


Tourniquet

by jilly-chan (slightlyjillian)



Series: Tourniquet [1]
Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-24
Updated: 2010-01-24
Packaged: 2017-10-06 16:06:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 32,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slightlyjillian/pseuds/jilly-chan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One arrested for following orders, and the other for breaking them. Nichol and Hilde reflect on how far they have gone and where they have yet to go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written between 2003-2006, Tourniquet is probably one of my most enjoyed and indulgent imaginings of canon-GW during and post series. It came about while re-watching some of Gundam Wing. I was impressed by how Hilde and Nichol's arrests were almost simultaneous and couldn't resist the possibilities since I like them both so very much.

He watched as they pushed the pills down the back of her throat. Two officers held her arms and pinned her back against the silver dark slab on which they intended for her to sleep, drugged, for most of the trip through space. One stood at her head, using most of his weight. The third reached around the soldier at her side and had pinched her jaw open.

The sounds of protest turned into strangled gagging, and her legs curled up, kicked out and struck the metal supporting her with a resounding gong not unlike two mobile suits colliding. One way or another, she was determined to demonstrate her protest.

"Knock it off, Hilde." The man who leaned over her head hissed and sounded tense with disappointment as if his own throat had pills forced down it. "Don't be a fool."

As soon as she was released, the girl sat back tight against the wall, legs twisted out to either side, and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, "I didn't betray you." Her sweaty, spiked, short black hair stood up in frustrated disarray like an alarmed cat. The whites of her eyes flashed in the dirty tan light provided by the humming, dim fluorescent light of the cell.

"What do you call that little display from earlier? Getting involved with a Gun--" The officer who had spoke glanced sharply at Hilde's fellow prisoner. Something civilian flashed in the young man's eyes. Something naïve. He rolled his shoulders back and stood in the dignified appearance of attention before continuing, "An enemy of OZ."

"Call it whatever you want. Duo Maxwell wanted what was best for the colonies. Isn't that," Hilde choked and while supporting herself against one arm, used the other hand to massage her throat, "Isn't that," she tried again, "What we're fighting for as well?"

No one answered her. Instead, in a formal, stiff line, the three soldiers closed the door behind them, sliding the observation window closed and leaving the two prisoners alone for the first time.

He hadn't shared his room in the brig on the way from Barge to the colony. Now on transport to the moon, they had interrupted his solitary confinement by bringing in the slight spitfire of a girl who was wearing only a gray shirt and thin pants, the underclothes of a spacesuit. She must have been brought in haste, disgrace or both.

She stared at him with lingering hostility, not that the anger was meant for him in particular-simply that he was available and she obviously wanted someone to know how she felt. Her sweat had obviously soaked through most of her shirt and as the chill of the shuttle met her sudden stillness, the girl Hilde wrapped her arms around herself.

He felt a passing urge to offer her his coat with the chivalrous nature that he had recently set aside for duty. The Decision he made that led to his current exile and punishment. Bitterness at the humiliation kept him from following through. Besides, the uniform was all he had left to show his dignity and rank. The little they did for him while under lock and key.

"L-Lieutenant?" She hid the chatter of her teeth. In the vile lighting, he could see the sweat on her neck glisten even as it helped to lower her temperature.

He didn't answer. He continued to sit on his parallel bench, leaning back against the opposite wall, but lowered his chin, suddenly feeling too exposed with his neck and insignia open and obvious to her.

"Why are you smiling?" She snapped, and he could sense her helplessness surfacing and threatening to overwhelm her previous show of bravado. "I don't see what you have to be laughing at, seeing as you were in here first!" Her voice lifted and echoed faintly, audible when he gave no immediate reply.

He had been thinking about how even his uniform, perceived as his last connection to honor, also humbled him. When he unbuttoned the top of his collar, her mouth pulled back in disgust. He lowered his eyes to watch his fingers work each decorative button until the jacket simply rested on his arms. Shrugging his shoulders back, he pulled off the OZ uniform and untucked where it caught under his belt in the back.

"Here," He spoke for the first time and threw the article of clothing at her face. She caught it, although the arms flapped back and slapped her cheek momentarily covering her open mouth. Her eyes wide, surprised, even as he said, "I'm not going to hurt you."

"No, I-" but she couldn't deny her initial suspicions.

"Put it on if you're cold." He interrupted her, his words brisk and clipped. Nervous to be talking at all, he couldn't remember that last time he had spoken to anyone since the general inquiry on the colony a few days before. He wasn't in the habit of making friends and stripped of authority he lost the conversation of his peers. He always knew he was alone, but he'd never regretted it so much as now-confronted by the insubordinate girl.

"My name is Hilde."

"Hilde. I heard."

Their words overlapped, and he watched her lips almost smile before continuing, "Who are you, Lieutenant? Disappointed in OZ like I was?"

He hadn't lost his painful sense of humor, "Hardly the same." The heavy breath from his nose a substitute for laughter. "This is my reward for following orders," He spread his arms out, but just as quickly brought them in and crossed them over his white, pressed shirt. The shirt wrinkled and a little worse for wear as he intently studied his clothes and hoped she wouldn't notice the color of embarrassment that raised the temperature of his ears.

"OZ bastards."

Flinching at her words, he had to see her expression. Odd sympathy seemed glazed over her face, which seemed to slacken under his observation. His jacket swallowed her slim shoulders. He wondered if she was even sixteen.

"What did they give me?" She pitched forward, wrapping her arms around her waist, then spilled over to one side in order to counteract some sort of dizziness.

"Complacency pills were standard fair for disagreeable prisoners," He pondered, inching forward but not leaving his own seat, "But what the colony recruits use is anyone's guess."

"I can't see anything," Her fingers curled his jacket around her as her body began to violently tremble, but her head fell slack against the metal a moment later.

He stood and hesitated for only a moment before crossing over to her. His shadow kept him from examining her properly, and he had to keep moving to reassure himself she was only under some drug-induced sleep. Half twisted with her feet almost touching the ground, she looked ill at ease even as her loosened jaw and unclenched eyes made her appear an even younger innocent. Sleep could not erase the bruise that was forming on her jaw from where her mouth had been forced open.

His heartbeat filled both the emptiness and his ears as he lifted her legs and positioned her into a more comfortable manner to sleep off the drugs.

He sat back on his side of the narrow cell, which seemed to shrink with the silence between them. In passing, he wondered if he had looked that young when he studied at the Academy. The subsequent incoming classes had dipped deeper and deeper into the younger applicants. Children that had hardly entered adolescence were learning the ways of war and sacrifice. Many of them dying before learning of free choice and independence; although, he knew, he had believed, that war left little room for free choice and independence.

Her words haunted him. Slapped his preconceived notions with a perception he had many hours of solitude to contemplate.

"Nichol. What you have done was on the mark, but what I am about to do is also on the mark."

***

She thought it only fair that she could gawk at him, as he had undoubtedly been able to examine her after she lost consciousness. Her muscles ached, partially from the space battle, partially from the struggle she'd started when it became clear that her commander was going to put her in custody. After a while, she understood that she could have suffered more pains if someone hadn't adjusted her limp body into the semblance of comfortable sleep.

His chin had dropped and he dozed while still sitting upright. Not unlike the moment of awkward bashfulness she'd seen overwhelm him when he realized she thought he was going to take advantage of his new cellmate. She ran her fingers over the hem of the too long sleeves and once again appreciated the loan of his heavy jacket. They had taken her flight suit, so what she was wearing did little to warm her in the cold recycled air processed through the shuttle.

His complexion was still rosy tinted, which she expected was characteristic of his natural skin tone and matched his snarlish, outward personality. His hair settled around his face in dark, untidy curls and framed his cheeks with longer burns. Hilde guessed he'd at least reached twenty, seeing his position and rank within the inner circle of OZ and not simply as a recent colony recruit.

He was in custody for following orders. She puzzled over that, but no answers came to her. Even when she let her imagination run wild, she could not imagine how following orders would lead to the same consequence as her disobedience did.

His eyes opened first, but not a muscle not a fiber of his clothing twitched. She watched as his eyes closed and then slowly opened again. Each blink finding the strength to more wakefulness, and she marveled at the fragile gentleness of breaking sleep.

Then with a sharp intake of air, his head lifted and he stared at her. His eyes wary and reflected a dark color in the poor, flickering light. A moment later, he apparently remembered why he was no longer alone and she watched his jaw visibly unclench.

"Still here?" His voice had an unused sound, as when they had first spoken. He tasted his lips then with an expression of experiencing something sour as he moistened his mouth. Right after, his eyes wandered toward the can that sat directly across from the door to their prison. Hilde had taken advantage of his sleep, and, as uncomfortable as that had been even in her safety from his knowledge, she couldn't help but feel amused as his propriety made his face even more flushed.

"I'll just turn away," She slid down to the foot of her uncomfortable bed and turned so that her legs fell off the end, the metal cutting in behind her knees so she curled her fingers underneath for more comfort.

"Aa." It was the closest she was going to get to proper thanks, since the OZ Lieutenant obviously was not used to sharing such close quarters with a woman.

"I woke up with a headache, but the pain is mostly gone." She talked while staring at the wall, pretending for his sake and she prided herself on her generosity of understanding, "I don't even know how long I was knocked out, the lighting in here has seemed to have gotten worse."

He grunted, and she wondered if he was going to pass out from perceived indecency before he actually could hold a normal conversation with her.

"Four hours."

Hilde took that as her cue she could turn around, swiveling around on her seat and seeing him in the opposite corner sitting with every indication that he was uncomfortable. His arms were folded and one leg crossed his knee to point away from her. His eyes were closed and his chin lifted to the wall. "How did you know?" She let her voice betray that she was impressed.

He lifted an arm and the sleeve pulled back to show a wristwatch.

"Oh," she almost giggled, "Why did they let you have all the luxuries?"

He shrugged, but she didn't doubt his honesty. He hadn't lied to her in the little things, so she had no reason to suspect him.

"My best guess is that they were under orders to treat me decently." He offered, after a brief silence.

Hilde took the conversation gratefully, "The only courtesy I've seen so far is that they've let me have a cellmate." She wished he would look at her instead of the wall.

"Having an inquisition on the colony must have been her attempt to let me save face among our unit." His words were soft, as if he finally was trying out the idea that had long sifted through his every thought.

Hilde didn't know whether asking questions would relieve him of his anxieties or compound them. So she waited.

"Why are you here?" He asked, looking at her finally. Fully awake, he asked with genuine curiosity, "Did I hear correctly from the little colony officer that you had an encounter with a Gundam pilot?" The curiosity reversed to drip with dislike at the last words.

Hilde answered with equal, but proud, confidence, "Yes. I helped a Gundam Pilot."

"I'll never understand," the Lieutenant said, "I'm so weary with this Gundam bullshit. One moment they're the enemy out to destroy us, next they've infiltrated OZ and hiding among us. Waiting, while no one does anything about them, and they're obviously up to no good."

"I don't know which pilots you're talking about," Hilde pondered, but, with the memory of a playful smile and affectionate chuckle, she rose to defend what she had experienced, "He had no intentions of harming us. In fact, the opposite. He wanted to save us, save me. And what did the colonist do, but try to kill him. It doesn't make sense." She shook her head.

"Nothing makes sense anymore." His sympathy made his reply softer, "All I know is that the confusion made me angry. And the only control, the only easy stability I could find was to simply follow orders." He laughed sharply, "And I blindly fired the shot that I thought would end my confusion forever."

Hilde wasn't certain what to make of this OZ soldier and his comments, "What did you do?" She asked, tentative and watchful of his reaction.

"I was in love," his words were cold, indifferent, but his lower lip quivered a little under the confession, "I thought I could break through to her, that I could take care of her. But she didn't listen to my warnings and I couldn't trust her judgment. I couldn't trust my own judgment about her."

"She was your commander?" Hilde asked, shifting and becoming aware of his jacket that still kept her snug and warm. She blushed at the indirect intimacy, and shook her head to dismiss the thought.

"Yeah," his formality slipped with every moment, and his demeanor became quite boyish, "I adored her strength and beauty, but she confused me more than anyone. I wanted her to open up to me, but someone else took her trust." He met her eyes for a moment, "I was jealous. More than anything, then, I wanted to hurt her. But. But I didn't deliberately seek to hurt her. I pulled rank to find out what I was supposed to do. I got my orders to . . . destroy . . ." His story stopped then, and Hilde didn't think she wanted or needed to hear all the details.

"Is she alive?" The most important truth she wanted clarified.

"Yes." She could see his gratitude, as if that was enough to hold back his absolute guilt.

"Then, as my mother always told me, 'Lessons might be understood in theory, but are better learned through the pain of experience'." Hilde found herself using the same coquettish tone that her mother liked to use in tense moments. Her own hand was lifted and pointing in punctuation, mirroring Hilde's memory, "The point is," Hilde let her hand drop and spoke in her own voice again, "The point is . . ." The real pain in his eyes made her forget every half-hearted platitude.

"I don't doubt you're a lot like your mother." He closed his eyes and, with an exhalation, seemed to find some sort of peace before speaking again, "I suppose I'm a little jealous of the carefree certainty those Gundam pilots seem to possess."

Hilde paused, then concurred, "I know what you mean."

The door to their prison opened and the brilliant light from the hallway blinded Hilde immediately as she was closer. Momentarily, she recognized Officer Fass who had indulged her in argument when the other colony OZ representatives had only fixed her with infuriatingly silent stares.

"Lieutenant, sir."

Hilde was surprised with the formality with which her cellmate was regarded. Taking in his tired response, however, she did not believe the respect was mutual.

"What is it?"

"The Colonel has requested you speak with her before we transfer you temporarily to the moon base."

Her companion unfolded himself from his prison bed and rebuttoned the cuffs of his shirt. One hand attempted to organize his hair, and he stood long enough to be sure of his stable footing before moving to follow Officer Fass. Hilde had noticed the feminine pronoun and had no doubt as to how he had to feel going to talk with . . . her.

"Wait." Hilde caught his arm as he passed her. He turned to her with a wondering expression, and his eyes softened as she hastily pushed his uniform jacket into his near arm.

The door closed behind them without another word shared, but Hilde felt warm from his look of appreciation.

***

The shuttle lurched with landing, and with no forewarning, both he and Hilde had to reach out and brace themselves from falling to the floor.

"The moon." She said.

He nodded. Colonel Une had mentioned a temporary lay over before returning him back to Barge. He didn't understand her sudden change, but she had strongly suggested the need to have trustworthy officers at her side just then. He knew she had no reason to doubt his current loyalty, but the order to return to her side stunned him.

Hilde rubbed her arms nervously, but she had refused to take back his jacket when he h ad offered it again. On a passing whim, he wanted to tell her more and seek her advice. He wanted to ask her what to do, what was expected of him, how he should behave. He wanted to learn from her how to trust again with the earnest belief that she displayed when she talked about peace, hope and love. He said nothing.

The only sound in their amiable silence was the abysmal light as it sputtered it's last rays of light, one moment casting them in darkness and then immediately after bathing them with a brilliance surpassing any light it had shone on them previously.

"What are they going to do with us?"

He almost didn't hear her voice the concern. And long after she asked, he almost believed he had imagined it or that it had come from his thoughts. But it was a question he could answer.

"The Colonel instructed that you were to be released back to the colonies."

Hilde's blue eyes widened, and her disbelief made him smile with more affection that he had felt in some time.

"It's true. I explained to her your situation, and the Colonel said that you were forbidden to interfere as far as OZ was concerned. However, you can return to a normal colony life," He rushed over her attempt to clarify, to thank him, "I figured that's what your knucklehead Gundam pilot wanted for you anyway. To be free."

She was speechless. It was all he could do not to take her in his arms, but to capture her was to defeat what he had struggled to accomplish.

***

Hilde felt stiff as she stood in the hall that separated the moon base from the transport deck. Officer Fass had his orders to return her to the colony, and she couldn't help but smirk whenever he had to call her "ma'am." She had yet to be given proper clothes, and goose-bumps rippled up her bare arms.

Standing immediately to her side was the stranger that she'd shared quarters with for approximately twelve hours according to his timepiece. Although they never touched, the slight distance between their arms to her was as strong as a velcro bond. She felt the separation as the other officers guided him toward the elevator lift to the sublevels where he would wait in another isolated room until his Colonel officially called him to her side.

"Please," Hilde blinked back her emotions. Perturbed as each significant connection she made was abruptly severed. She didn't know if she'd ever see Duo Maxwell again. But at least she knew his name. "May I ask your name?"

His face ticked, struck with what she had come to see as affection. A similar look to when he talked about his beloved Colonel, "My name is Douglas Nichol."

"I'm Hilde Schbeiker," She replied cheerfully to reciprocate, "May we meet again, Douglas Nichol."

He moved, and for a moment she thought he would hug her, except at the last moment he slipped past her and into the open elevator car. His jacket brushed her shoulder.

Douglas Nichol. The name haunted her thoughts with a flurry of memory-- overwhelming her last shared look with the stranger she'd come to care for.

She tried to remember a story that she'd heard as a small girl.

Nichol. She looked up as the doors of the lift closed and he disappeared behind them. The engines of the machine groaned as they labored to lower the equipment and its passengers to the sublevel.

Her mother had told her about a man from Earth who had worked on the colony for a season. A man who had stolen her mother's heart with his stern bashfulness, and that they had parted with tears of frustration as he felt guilt for betraying his family, which he had left behind.

It had been a story told to teach Hilde about life, love, and consequences. Lessons understood in theory, but better learned through the pain of experience. Experience her mother had hoped to spare Hilde.

Nichol. The name of the man who would never know of his daughter, because he had left them, left for Earth, to return to his wife and son.

"Nichol." She called out to no one. He was gone. Her pardon did not give her the freedom to wander the station. She was an exile being sent back to a far colony in space. "Nichol." Her shoulders dropped with the mystery of unverified revelation.

"Hilde. Come with me." Officer Fass called her at last, appearing a little bewildered by her sudden change in emotion.

"I am coming." She continued to stare at the closed door of the elevator, and how close during her imprisonment she had been to discovering, finding, her family. She could hardly pull herself away, although, she did at last. Wiping her dry eyes with the back of her hand.

With each step, she found the strength of more determination, and she marveled at the fragile comfort of gentleness, of his affection. It restored her confidence, even as the physical distance grew between herself and Douglas Nichol.

Each step she embraced as a promise. Each breath a hope to meet again.


	2. Chapter 2

She dreamed she was in the bottom of a deep boat. The sides curled up and created dark shadows around her, as severe as a coffin. She tried her hands. They were heavy weights. She wondered if she were roped down. Her head, the only part of her that seemed capable of movement, jostled as the boat rocked. Some brilliant white light broke through the sliver of open eyelids and pierced her brain. Her own moaning first assaulted her awakening ears and almost covered the entire conversation taking place around her.

"Where the hell did she come from?"

"Another pilot?"

"Not on the list. But the wounds are consistent."

"She could be the enemy . . . the unidentified shuttle . . . "

"Treat her anyway."

The pause filled with the wheezing of her own lungs, of the circulating air, of the wheels that carried her along.

"It's what Treize-sama wants."

***

He prowled the halls of the Victoria Hospital feeling quite caged. Not that Lieutenant Douglas Nichol had felt free in the path few months. When he wasn't a slave to duty or OZ, he was irreversibly bound to his commanding officer, and, while she slept in a drug-induced coma, he fought a restless lack of direction. He let the hallways direct him then, in endless patrols of right turns, perfectly aligned North to South, East and West.

He had been walking the halls of Barge when the battle began. His first thought had be a reflexive fury that his wings had been clipped. After they discovered Colonel Une bleeding on the floor of the control room on the Moon, Nichol had been told to continue his duties as assigned to him by Une: to stay by her side and out of trouble. Even if to remain with her meant abandoning death with his fellow soldiers and taking the Colonel back to Earth.

A coldness rippled through his thoughts, one that he was becoming quite familiar with, started to work its way up his neck. Stretching the skin on his cheekbones and making his smile feel tight. Of course, he could still smile and more easily than before and at any situation no matter how sad, ironic, or terrible. Powerfully amused.

He was smiling just then, because he'd been asked to stand down from his post at Colonel Une's door. Not that Nichol had been so surprised that Lord Treize was coming to see his Lady. The visits were routine, as regular as Une's heartbeat of late. Her proximity gave Nichol bitter hope. Treize brought with him the relief of failure. Reminded of his shortcomings, reminded of his place, Nichol decided to continue following the only path before him and stretch his legs.

He used to fly. His skills were above par at Victoria and secured him the duty of evaluating, or rather sifting through, new recruits to OZ. Days were spent with the OZ hopefuls, evenings were spent with his fellow officers complaining about the lack of talent, but--now and again--a bright sport would achieve scores beyond his peers. Nichol had to admit it wasn't hard on days like those to point out the good ones. Those same good candidates were all piloting their own crafts, ready to die, at Lord Kushranada's command. Nichol kept up with the bitter smile, it felt appropriate.

"Giving blood again, Lieutenant?"

He recognized the voice of the Chipper Nurse. Rather ordinary, but the sort of woman that got her way both with patients and men. She gave out orders as if they were requests, but most definitely disobedience would not be tolerated. He pitied her husband.

"Not that bored yet, ma'am," Nichol stopped a moment, facing the west where the sun was low enough to make him squint. "Maybe if you put me on salary, I'd feel up to it?"

"Ha. Ha." Her tone was humorless, but her expression didn't make him feel any immediate danger. "Why aren't you with your lady?"

"Pardon?" Nichol grimaced nearly biting his tongue, "She's hardly mine."

"Maybe not, but you're never so sour about her when you think no one's looking." Chipper Nurse looked almost sympathetic, "We need to find you a nice girl, Lieutenant. How old are you? Twenty-five or so?"

"Something like that . . ." Nichol shrugged, refusing to admit he was younger. His mother had always commented on how quickly he grew, and, since she was a very distant relation to unimportant aristocrats, he'd learned the best way to endure any social event was to remain silent and aloof. Indifference became his tool and crutch.

"We've got a cute little pilot on the fourth floor. No one visits her. And, we've given her enough of your blood that she might owe you a favor or two . . ." Chipper Nurse winked in such a way that Nichol felt certain this very conversation had been brewing conspiratorially in her thoughts for quite some time.

He wasn't interested. "I'm not interested."

"You're a good boy, Lieutenant." Chipper Nurse arranged the front of her uniform. She wore white that looked like it had seen a few too many cycles in the wash but starched stiff for another thankless day, "Too many good boys are going to die."

"Not this one." The floor felt so solid under his feet that he might never pick up his feet again. "I'm grounded."

"We're going to need some good boys to survive." She tilted her head to one side, the white streaked blonde of her hair coming loose from the high bun and bobby pins. Nichol wondered if she had any 'good boys' of her own. "Someone's going to have to pick up the pieces. Always pieces left over after something like this. We're on the precipice."

Nichol had to agree, "Regular Humpty Dumpties all of us."

***

Hilde had too much time to think. She thought about all the planning that had gone into infiltrating Libra, and how recklessly her mission had seemed to play out. She remembered that once she'd fallen into the deepest moment of frustration, finally begging for help, she had heard his voice. She reflected on how she'd practically done everything to impress Duo Maxwell.

When she felt her most optimistic, she knew the information on Libra was every bit as valuable as she had hoped. Duo would succeed and then come to find her.

More often, as she stared at the IV hooked up to her left arm and watched it endlessly drip with clear liquid, she figured Duo good as dead. He sent her to earth alone in an unmarked shuttle, from what she could gather from the maternal and frustrating nurse that continually poked her for signs of life. Logic had too much time to circle in on every possible scenario, but her hope faltered as news of the scope of the battle landscape muttered from the tongue of everyone who passed in the hall.

"You're a survivor, sweetie," The nurse had said, while taking another sample of Hilde's blood, measuring Hilde's recovery both in the lab and from shrewd glances. "You'll have to do your bit soon enough. Although, it looks like you're used to that sort of work—put yourself through some such pickle like you did."

Hilde had let her head turn away, blocking the better part of her vision with the colorless white pillow. One eye had a steady view of the orange purple sunset. Earth.

She'd never seen Earth except from space. The sunsets were spectacular, even filtered through the half-closed blinds of her window.

"And you're a brooder. Just like the soldier from upstairs. You're two peas from the same pod," the nurse was uncanny for speaking the truth, and for the first time during her stay, Hilde thought about someone other than Duo Maxwell.

***

He sat by her bed for a while. Feeling oddly like he was in the right place, but the room was different than where he'd spent so many hours sitting before in the same hospital. The table was empty from the vase of constantly-replaced-with-fresh roses. Silence and his own breathing replaced the hiss and pump of the oxygen needed to encourage his Colonel to fill her lungs. And this room faced west. He could watch the day begin with his superior officer, and he could watch it set over the face of the girl.

Hilde.

Curiosity and unsolicited threats from the Chipper Nurse brought him down to this room on the fourth floor, which was regularly on his exiled trek around the facility.

He stood in the doorway, feeling it strangely appropriate for him to find the girl for whose freedom he'd bargained as the same girl who benefited from his blood. Truthfully, he'd spared little thought for her after he had been escorted to Colonel Une and the girl left for her fate off the Moon.

Nichol wouldn't say that he approved of how she'd ended up after her lease on freedom. A relatively healthy color started to stretch across her cheeks, which he observed after stepping closer. She slept with her mouth slightly parted, a comfortable pose free from immediate pain. Small blessings, Nichol supposed, after the injuries she'd sustained according to the chart hooked at the end of her bed.

She'd obviously been engaged in some form of civil disobedience, the sort that gave you whiplash, mobile suit belt burns, shrapnel injuries and concussion.

Like Colonel Une's furniture, Nichol found an identical folding chair, only in Hilde's room he spun it around backward in order to sit and lean his arms against the backrest. He decided, while watching her jaw slowly close, that he didn't care which side she was on: a critical, character defining point that in the past would have signed and sealed his opinion of a person. The "Jane Doe" scrawled where her name belonged, however, was a good sign that when wind of Hilde got around eventually someone with the wrong sort of power and a heavy hand would lock her away. Again.

And if the war went the other way, someone with the wrong sort of power and a heavy hand would lock him away.

His head felt heavy, and, while the streetlights began to fill the corner of the room with light, he knew that his official place was back with the Colonel. Unofficially, his loyalty wavered.

***

She lay silently watching him for some time while he stared at the far wall. He seemed more worn, lines stretched from his eyes and aged him, even from when she saw him last. At first, she wondered if she only saw him because she wanted to and that a good rub at her eyes with her IV-free hand would cast his apparition back into her early morning dreams.

If Duo Maxwell's well being and his mission were foremost in her thoughts, Douglas Nichol endured in a strong second place. Not simply because of the strange connection they seemed to forge on their imprisoned shuttle flight to the Lunar Base, but also because of a certain suspicion that had crossed her mind only too late after they were separated.

She watched him without speaking, hoping to look at Nichol when he was his most unguarded, in order to capture some glimpse of what her father must have looked like.

For a ghost of her imagination, he looked very solid. And alone.

"Tell me." Her voice was thick and she moistened her lips before continuing, "Your father went to the colonies when you were about four."

He stared at her without fully turning his head, as if uncertain if the words were coming from her lips or from someone else. Something about the way connections were zigzagging behind that unabashed stare reminded her of moments she's seen a similar expression reflected back from a mirror.

"Did he ever talk to you about that?" She would have sat up, but found herself so stiff that it was hard to even move her neck to the side in order to see him better.

"My father was killed by the Romafeller Foundation after they learned of his sympathy for the colonies," The statement designed to hide any emotions, "I was nine at the time, and they spared my mother as long as she went into voluntary exile. We did not talk about my father after that."

The dimness of the room only intensified the shroud of unexpected sorrow as Hilde closed her eyes over the feeling. Then she tucked it into under a new concern.

"You don't seem badly hurt, Nichol." She wondered then if keeping his father's name had been a silent rebellion even as disregard for the colonies his father had loved grew in his heart, "Why are you here?"

He leaned forward in the chair so his chin could rest on his crossed arms, the pose served to make him appear significantly younger. "Colonel Une was injured and I was ordered not to leave her side."

"Oh really?" Hilde felt her curiosity piqued, pulling from her memory the few moments she'd shared with Nichol on a prison transport, "Doesn't look like you're following that order very well."

He smirked, then the confidence faltered as the lines of his mouth dropped again, "She's in a coma. I doubt she'll ever wake up. Besides," He added with extra bitterness and sat upright showing the wrinkled disrespect he'd given his uniform recently, "Even if she did, she's got her beloved Treize coming to visit her and he would kick me out again."

Hilde chuckled. "I can understand being rather luckless in that regard." She still smarted over the ease with which Duo Maxwell could abandon her even after giving her levels of intimacy. She would never eat apples again.

His eyes took in the bandages still around her arms and, bashfully demonstrating concern, trailed up to her face, "I must say that you look worse than when I saw you last."

"I found myself on the losing end of a confrontation with the newest mobile dolls ones that . . ."

"Don't tell me." Nichol interrupted, holding up his hands and almost smiling, "I might have to report you." He ran his fingers through his dark hair, pulling at the curls, "Knowing you has created quite a conflict of interest in my life."

His face splintered over questions that she suspected he wanted to ask, and held more than a hint of fear of being broken over them. His lips formed words before he actually spoke them, "So, why are you asking about my father?"

Torn between brashness and insecurity over his reaction, she hesitated. Her only source of information regarding a father she never knew was the soldier sitting by her bed, but at the same time she wondered what cost her truth would take from him.

"Don't tell me." He stumbled over his own words, "I think I can guess . . ." He pinched the bridge of his nose, again betraying some emotion but hiding exactly which way he felt. "I hated the colonies because for a nine year old, they seemed a wretched conflict for him to die defending." He let his shoulders drop into a vulnerable position, "I chose OZ because I wanted to fall in with those people who had the power to stay in control in spite of the colonies."

"Nichol," Hilde started, wanting to reassure him that acting on his emotions hadn't been wrong. That she could understand what he had to have felt. She didn't want to embody his father's betrayal, but she couldn't leave him alone either.

"No, wait." Nichol stopped her, "I know what it is like to love irrationally. Like my father, I can't escape it myself. You must have his insane devotion to those colonies. I suppose, blindness is something that we both have in common."

"I rather think that you've seen to the truth of things," Hilde's heart began to hammer and the monitor matched pace with intonations to publicly betray her reactions, "My mother told me stories, enough that I knew pieces about who my father was, that he had come to the colonies for a only a brief time—but long enough. She never married, you see. She was angry at what life had given her, but resigned to stay strong. Sort of like the colonies."

"She died?" Nichol asked, his politeness masking any judgment.

Hilde nodded, "She was sick, and the medical facilities on most colonies are understaffed and frontier quality at best."

"Hilde, I'm . . . " He reached out then and grabbed her fingers with a fierce squeeze. An unexpected tremble furrowed his brow as he held her hand.

"You don't have to say anything." She wanted to comfort him more than anything, but her energy drained out through her fingers. Colors slipped from her eyesight as the scene settled into degrees of greyness. He turned his chin away over his far shoulder with his jaw so tightly clenched that she could here the bones click. She wondered what her mother would have made of the surly young man, and if Nichol's personality and appearance carried any measure of the man her mother had loved.

"Are you sure?" His comment registered formally, "But the coincidence is uncanny."

"I'll take the coincidences." She wiggled the fingers that he still held, hoping to offer reassurance, "I've always wanted a brother."

The silence that sealed the deliberate change in their relationship lingered until a strange click and static interrupted.

"Lieutenant Nichol, report."

As if in slow motion, he pulled a device free from the straps that held it at his waist and responded as if instinctively, "I'm here. What's the situation?"

"Colonel Une's disappeared from her room."

"What?" Then Hilde heard what real incredulous disbelief sounded like when uttered by her older brother, "How can she be gone?"

"Zero One is missing as well."

The temperature in the room dropped several degrees. Nichol put his hand over Hilde's again and stood, "I'll be back."

"We'll see each other again," Hilde replied, even as he bolted from the room recklessly letting his feet slide all over the polished hospital floors.

***

The oxygen mask had trailed chords and wires over the rumpled bedding. The electronic equipment had beeped and whined of misuse. The vase of roses had been knocked over, except for one long stemmed blossom that had been deliberately replaced on top of the bedside table outlined by the shallow pool of water recently spilled there.

Nichol had taken it all in and knew that Lady Une had been called to space. The disappearance of the Gundam practically sealed the story. He only had to wait to hear the outcome. How she'd saved Treize's life only to lose him in his duel. How she'd surrendered Earth's armies to space. How she'd learned to come to peace on her own.

How he'd been released from his punishment of always staying by her side. How he had never been invited back to serve with her. Lt. Douglas Nichol, in her eyes, was still a traitor.

Neither dismissed nor called to account for himself, and not knowing what else to do, Nichol had stayed at the hospital. He stayed because of Hilde Schbeiker.

When he'd recognized her as she slept in the hospital bed, he'd felt a strange pull of fate's humor. When she'd mentioned his father, the tickle of premonition became stronger. Almost as if their previous interaction had been to prepare them for the truth. To prepare him for addressing issues in his past that had been so far allowed to collect the dust of bitter sentimentality. The indulged sentimentality of a pre-adolescent.

Hilde brought out a different aspect of his personality, one that refreshed and livened him.

"Piss off, if you're going to be that way!" Hilde made to throw the pillow at him, as he wheezed with childish laughter. Her verbal threats continued even as she kept the possible projectile wrapped between her arms, "This is the last time I confide in you, ever."

He felt the emptiness of her threat, but a strange fear of losing the feelings she provided for him made Nichol stop. His insecurity realized the inner strength that made up the ex-rebel pilot. It was a strength he more often imitated by displays of stubbornness.

Her face was flushed, but her health had undeniably returned. With a new peace given to the Earth and the colonies, Hilde and Nichol both had universal if indirect pardons. She was eager to leave and see more of Earth. He wanted to show it to her.

Often, he would tell her where they might start the trip. Going to his childhood home had been a mutually agreed starting point. With persistent badgering and dizzyingly illogical arguments, Hilde had convinced him to take her to the Catalonias, where his mother still lived. Hilde had been appalled that Nichol had not made effort to visit or write his mother after he graduated from the Academy. No matter how dismal a picture he tried to create, Hilde refused to think his mother could be as terrible as Nichol made her out to be.

He remembered a severe sharpness to her features, and long wavy black hair streaked with silver. Nichol remembered the cruel affection as she'd simultaneously embrace her son and in a soft, low-pitched voice recount his every shortcoming and failure.

"I don't know why father loved her," He had admitted, studying the lines in the palm of his hand trusting Hilde to listen without him watching her, "Unless his death changed her as much as it did me."

Hilde had waited while he took a long drink from the glass of water he'd poured for himself from her pitcher, "But if you're willing to go, I would want to be there and act as a buffer, your shield." Her reply, something about his deep-hidden nobility had caused him to blush deeply from his cheekbones and down his neck.

Not unlike the redness that had crossed Hilde's cheeks in her reluctantly pleased frustration. If she were much like her mother, Nichol could understand why his father couldn't resist loving that woman or her home colonies.

He had started to apologize from where he leaned against the wall next to the window which still faced westward onto the setting sun; however, his words were interrupted by an interloper. A young man who barely managed to slide to a stop just outside their room, and, grasping the door frame, leaned in.

"Hilde! You aren't dead!" A Cheshire grin pressed itself into the folds of his handsome face, and Nichol didn't miss the dazzled response in Hilde's own smile.

"How could I? When you made me promise not to?" Her voice trembled in a manner of pleasure and comfortable delightedness. She curled her arms around the pillow more strongly, as if a touch nervous. As if she were specifically fond of impressing this person.

"I was visiting Quatre when I saw a familiar name on the roster. When Sally described you, I knew it had to be you." He recklessly sat on the side of the bed near to Hilde and with his back to Nichol. An unexpected and long braid twisted down the boy's back until it folded over onto the bed's sheets. "When we sent you away on the shuttle, I didn't know if I would ever see you again."

Nichol couldn't miss the sentiment of those words, like a boy playing at a dangerous game of love. He crossed his arms, waiting for Hilde to remember he was there and listening also.

He had been contemplating the first boy so intently that he didn't realize that another person had entered the room until he hear the release of a safety on a gun.

The accompanying comment was a low threat, "You."

Nichol recognized Heero Yuy; although, the machine-like efficient quality of the Gundam pilot was somewhat muted by the common looking clothes and unruly hair that had been left to grow apparently on its own whim.

He heard Hilde manage to say, "Duo, stop him." and Nichol realized that the other boy had to be the Gundam pilot of Zero Two.

"Why should I?" The first boy, Duo, had come to stand next to Heero Yuy, but turned to Hilde for an explanation, "What is this scummy traitor doing in your room? Is some new covert OZ branch starting trouble again?" Duo chattered and his accusations leaked easily, while Nichol didn't budge from his place against the wall. Heero Yuy had a steady hand, but the gun was still pointed at him. Nichol chose not to take chances in those circumstances.

"No!" Hilde's reply was so aghast Nichol felt a warm comfort that she wasn't going to abandon him. "Duo, he's my brother."


	3. Chapter 3

The work at the junkyard had unfortunately trimmed her figure down into an almost nonexistent bosom, and the blue dress did little to flatter the almost boyish trim of her angles. It didn't help that it was the same dress that Hilde had worn the year before, when Duo Maxwell had invited her to the political Christmas party to celebrate the end of Mariemaia's uprising. The same dress that Relena Peacecraft had graciously offered to what she saw as the latest charity case of the colonies.

However, Hilde hadn't felt that way the year before. She'd been quite swept off her feet by Duo Maxwell and paraded around the ballroom floor.

Glancing over at her brother, she watched as Nichol pulled at his necktie and cleared his throat into his opposite fist. A slight shine of nervousness started to trace the edge of his jaw, "Rather sweet of you to come with me, Nicky," she let her fingers curl around his elbow, as much to reassure him as reassure herself. "I don't rightly feel like I belong here."

"You and me both." Douglas Nichol jerked his chin down in a sharp, brief nod, but his eyes were quickly surveying the room as it spread out from the seasonally decorated front hallway into the vast open brightness of the main celebration floor. "Ready?" He kept his nose pointed forward, but let his gaze slip down to analyze her expression.

"If you are." Hilde gave him a limp smile, her lips feeling unable to maintain the shape. She didn't know exactly when she'd become so dependent on her new family. She didn't know exactly when she'd realized who would become her truest friends while time and expectations spread everyone else thin.

~*~

Before

~*~

The papers for Nichol's official dismissal from military service came to the hospital the same day Hilde received her documentation for release. The Chipper Nurse had stopped by Hilde's room to deliver both messages.

"Mr. Maxwell called while you must have been out walking the halls," the nurse had fussed around Hilde's room, which blossomed in the healthiest colors of sunset. Nichol watched new light sparkle in his sister's eyes at the mention of the Gundam Pilot's name.

He'd felt jealousy wrap around his waist like a belt held one link too tight.

The landslide of misfortune the cards had dealt Nichol had seemed to meet a resting point in the security of Hilde. The uncommon waves of affection she bestowed on him were an addictive source of warmth. He'd tried to remain indifferent to what others thought of him, putting duty and practicality ahead of any need for companionship. Even his mixed feelings for Lady Une had come second to orders when he let himself fall too deeply into withdrawal.

"Did he leave a message?" Hilde asked, trying to add an aloof chill to her question and the difference from her normal tone was enough to emphasize the eagerness for the answer.

"Just that he wished you best, and here's the rest of it." The nurse who ran her floor tighter than any soldier handed Hilde a folded slip of paper, "I wrote it down word for word."

"Thank you," Hilde used both hands to hold the message, most likely to hide the nervous tremble of her fingers. Nichol almost feared that she'd send him away from the room to read the note in private. Instead, she waited long enough for the nurse to leave, and then slipped her fingers under the edge of the paper to flip open to the text.

He watched her, trying to read her expression for clues to the content. Was Maxwell going to propose some relationship, some meeting, some acquaintance that might take her away? Nichol could already imagine the phone call he'd be making to the Catalonia's, "Yes, tell mother that I've decided not to come to visit. I really didn't have anything that significant to share with her that needed done right way."

He wondered what sort of job an ex-soldier could find. His thoughts pondered the remaining funds in his account and wondered what sort of housing he could afford either. Asking his mother or the Catalonia's for assistance was out of the question. He would disappear first. The sunset light waned and only caused to diminish his expectations.

"Why don't you go with your brother, and I'll catch up with you afterward? Don't worry about me." Her voice pitched high in her reading voice and pierced what had quickly become a chilly silence, as the diminishing sun seemed to drain away all the heat.

"Oh," His relief radiated such guilt he couldn't even feel glad for the reprieve.

Hilde met Nichol's eyes with a brief appearance of remorse, and then she brightened, "What a fool. To think that I'd even consider going with him when I promised I'd go with you around Earth already." And he believed her.

~*~

The Catalonia household was in such an upheaval already that when Nichol showed up with a bastard younger sister in tow, at first, hardly a glance was sent their way.

"What's going on?" Nichol reached out and grabbed the flaying arm of a servant rushing past and talking to himself in a high-pitched squeak. Hilde glided to one side as the momentum of the household helper forced Nichol to take a few steps forward for balance.

"Mistress Catalonia told us to make ready. Her daughter is coming home today. Unexpectedly soon." The fretful contortion that crossed the servant's face

"Dorothy?" Hilde watched a new blankness cross Nichol's features, as if he didn't know how to react, "Dorothy's coming home from school?"

"School?" The servant pulled free as Nichol's grip slackened, "She's coming home from the hospital. The hospital they keep now in Luxembourg. For the soldiers who had troubles . . ."

Hilde couldn't decide if the servant was completely daft or incredibly frightened of saying too much to the wrong person. Nichol's intimidating approach loosened the other man's lips, until he had time to think better and sprinted away from his captor. His footsteps echoed down the hallway.

"Looks like we picked a rather busy time to come home," Nichol added the last word with a wry grimace.

"Dorothy is . . ." Hilde asked, rather overwhelmed by the fury of movement around her and the full height of the foyer ceiling as it stretched up to the highest point of the country estate.

"A girl about your age. Dorothy's the only heir to the Catalonia estates, and her mother is my mother's best friend. If you can call it friendship," He snorted, but the flippant dismissal of his tone was betrayed by the way his hand absently traced the antique furniture with something akin to comfort. "Dotty's alright if you can get her to talk about something other than war. Her bitterness took her a strange direction. I wouldn't be surprised if she wasn't chasing down her own Gundam Pilot. She would have had such a hateful admiration for them."

"Like you?" Hilde teased, but she didn't shy away from making her point either.

His scowl satisfied her, until she saw a singular woman open the door from which they had just entered. Hilde didn't have to ask. The darkness of her eyes in the pale face was startling beautiful, but the loveliness only stretched out to measure a woman who achieved presence by intimidation. Even seeing her son did not startle Nichol's mother. Instead, she pushed the door open wide to show a steady trail of younger staff, stable boys, carrying along luggage like a trail of hard worked ants.

"It seems as if all the children have come home at once." Nichol's mother spoke softly, but each syllable weighed itself with importance. Hilde pressed her lips together, biting back her instinct to apologize and feeling an unexpected burden of expectations washing over her.

"Mother," Nichol almost made the appearance of a bow, offering a small courtesy.

"We were expecting you, however. Dorothy's return was sooner than anticipated."

"Was she hurt? Bert mentioned a hospital," The concern was real, and Hilde felt a driving curiosity about his past with this girl. They did grow up together for a while.

"Yes, Douglas. Dorothy was on Libra just before it was destroyed, and she barely managed to find her way back to Earth."

Nichol sucked in a breath, "I had no idea. She was injured?"

"Nothing substantial. Most of her damage was of another sort," the dark eyes turned to appraise Hilde, even as she spoke on another subject, "It has taken her a while to remember herself, so we should try not to alarm her."

Hilde knew that several soldiers who'd suffered mentally had been taken from her hospital to another specialized facility. It must have been Luxembourg.

"She's okay now?"

"Worried about me, Nicky?" Hilde heard the familiar nickname from a new direction, then saw the blonde girl walking in toward them as she continued, "Who is this?"

"Dorothy. My sister, Hilde." Nichol chose which question to answer, and Hilde felt like quite an interloper nonetheless as the tall girl, who was barely older than Hilde, comfortably settled herself against Nichol's chest. Her hands were caught up flat against Nichol's shirt, and she turned her face to study Hilde more specifically. Dorothy half-smiled in a dangerous way, and Hilde noticed that she wasn't embracing Nichol as much as using him to keep herself from falling over. He must have noticed as well, since only one hand rose to settle on her shoulder.

~*~

Nichol admired Hilde's perseverance as polite question after question volleyed her direction at the dinner table like a shower of nuclear missiles that all deliberately clouded their true intent. He tried to buffer what he could; however, Hilde reassured him with a fleeting smile around the edge of her soup-spoon.

Dorothy had not come down for dinner, and his mother and Dorothy's seemed quite well distracted by the petite freedom fighter from the colonies. The juxtaposition of his childhood home and the curiosity of his newly discovered half-sister left him feeling half strangled nonetheless. He repeatedly pressed his napkin to his lips, knowing that the movement was more comforting as something to do with his hands rather than concealing the urge to nervously chew his lip.

He anxiously grabbed for the glass of wine that had been refilled once already, and used the opportunity to take a longer look at his mother.

She sat at the head of the table, something that had changed when Dorothy's father had been killed. Dorothy's mother sat at the opposite end, as she always had. The contrast of their coloring made each woman unique in her own beauty. Nichol's mother dark haired and sharp boned. Dorothy's mother blonde and round. She mirrored Nichol by reaching out with her heavily jeweled, round fingers and looked at the wine before tasting it again. Nichol set down his glass, and Mrs. Catalonia echoed the movement.

He almost smiled, except he caught his mother watching him. Hilde looked across the table with a questioning look. He reached for his napkin.

"I will call Bert to show you to your room, Hilde." His mother spoke in the manner letting everyone know that she was dismissing the dinner party, "I trust you will find everything you need, but ask if you find anything lacking." She sat straight to press her back full against the tall chair, "Nichol, it is good to see you again. If you would join me in the library?"

He had followed her into the library on many evenings after dinner. Watching the way her skirts pulled just above the ground as he kept his eyes carefully lowered. Even now, he knew the design of the carpeting along that hallway. The faded gold and red that almost seemed brown. How the pattern broke against a thick border before revealing the wooden planks underneath.

"I am glad that Hilde distracts you from your disgrace," she started to speak just as the library doors became visible ahead and to their left. She paused long enough to reach out and push in the door with t he brass knob, "But there is some matter of concern regarding your future. Have you given it any thought, Douglas?"

He decided then that whatever choices he had, staying at the Catalonia estate was not the most pleasant variable, "I thought I might see what work might need done on the colonies."

"The colonies?" She walked directly to the glass bottle of whiskey, his father's favorite indulgence that she'd continued, "Yes, I suppose they'd accept any pair of hands offered for their repair," The liquid poured over ice with a crackle missing in her tone, "You've been touched by your father's fever, I take it." When she turned to him, he saw the injury of her disappointment. The lines of her cheek pulled taut, "As has Dorothy. You children are bruised beyond repair. The two of you have a useless inheritance."

He fought the urge to embrace her, checking his balance and watching as she took another drink, "Is there anything I can do for you, before I leave?" He hated the sincerity of his words and way he felt his lingering desire for her approval sat so obviously in his every breath.

"You've done enough."

~*~

Hilde heard the knock at her door while she was busy unfolding her nightclothes. With Nichol obligated to his mother and the sun already set, Hilde had little to do but prepare for sleep.

She let her fingers admire the old wood as she pulled the door open, "Oh, hello."

"Mind if I come in?" Dorothy Catalonia's eyes were shadowed, skin colorless or grey betraying what Hilde understood about the other girl's illness.

"No," Hilde watched as Dorothy, barefoot and in a thin white gown, glanced around the room, which looked rather simple compared to the rest of the estate. As if anything important or of value had been just removed before Hilde was allowed to settle in.

"You're going to have to help Nichol escape, if you truly care for him." Dorothy started without preamble, "But this house will always haunt him, I can promise you that." Dorothy leaned against the near bedpost, wrapping one nearly translucent hand around it.

Hilde sat on the bed, unsure what to say. Dinner had been a test of her social graces, avoiding the questions seeking out insults or information. Dorothy's comments seemed sincere enough.

"We used to mock him awfully, about his father. His father was a disgrace." Dorothy gazed at Hilde pointedly, and she watched Dorothy's eyebrow go up, "But now that I see you. I understand that Nicky had more hope that I ever did. He's got connections to this new future. He has ties. He has you." The elevation of her voice raked against Hilde's skull, before settling back into a sudden monotone.

"My father was a disgrace too, you know," Dorothy continued, "But I have no where else to go."

Hilde listened, knowing that nothing was quite what it seemed in this house.

"They think I'm crazy, you see."

"Dorothy," Hilde tried, her fingers suddenly very cold.

"Yes?"

"Do you think you're crazy?"

"After a fashion," Dorothy paused, then laughed, "He's stupid, and he's not as strong as he thinks he is out there either. Take care of him, right?"

"I am his sister." Hilde said firmly.

Dorothy made her way for the door, opening it to stare into the hall and breathing another laugh, "His sister. I'll remember that."

~*~

Now

~*~

"I'm sorry, what's your cut off again for tonight?" He teased through an affectionate smile, "I think someone forgot to set a limit . . ."

Hilde felt better after she and Nichol secured a table for themselves in a back corner. They'd seen Relena Dorlian just long enough that they didn't have to worry about her looking for them again later. She'd learned that hostess habit of Relena's when Relena found her and Duo at a rather inopportune moment of their intimate exploration at a different social gathering. She flinched at the memory, and how it embarrassed her more now than it had at the time. Duo Maxwell had managed to quite make her immune to any concept of propriety when he wanted her to be with him, "I don't think another one is going to make me silly, Nicky." She helped herself to the glass the wandering waiter had offered.

"Is that the Lieutenant? Nichols, something or other."

Both Hilde and Nichol sat upright, and she saw a flash of panic on her brother's features as they surveyed the crowd. Two uniformed Preventers within hearing distance were looking their direction.

"Oh, perfect." Nichol furrowed his brow in pain, "Please don't let them come over here." He spun sideways and tried to hide his face with his hand, "Maybe if they think we're having an intimate conversation?"

Hilde glanced over to see the Preventers in question take a step closer, "Too late, brother. Want my drink?"

Nichol smile turned wry, "Yes, actually."

"Nichol? Ex-Lieutenant?" The taller officer had a birthmark creeping up his neck like a flush of embarrassment, but the tone he used to inquire was rooted in something closer to a school bully's taunt. Hilde narrowed her eyes.

"Yeah," Nichol faked a smile after finished a swallow of her quickly loaned drink, "Ryan Peterson, was it? I seem to remember you, what was it . . . reassignment to ground troops from Barge?"

"I never thanked you for that demotion. Demotion, but that's certainly a prettier word than dismissal . . . sir." Peterson crossed his arms, obviously taking strength from the snickers of his companion.

"Of course, my dismissal was not for a lack of my talents," He shared a pointed look, "But rather an excessive devotion to duty." Nichol took another casual drink, and she watch him control his fingers with a deep rooted anger. Hilde couldn't approve of her brother baiting the Preventer, but she certainly didn't have to worry about Nichol holding his own against the conversational insults. It was one thing his mother had taught him: how to need thickened skin, and against anyone but her, Nichol certainly knew how to retaliate. A co-mingling of truth and lies, so subconscious he didn't even have to think before knowing what to say.

"I suppose you thought you were too good to wear this uniform, but . . . they didn't let you, did they?" The other Preventer also crossed his arms.

Nichol put on a sneer, disguised as a smile, "Useless uniform."

Hilde carefully put her hand on his forearm, and was able to feel the increasing warmth even where his wrist met the edge of his suit sleeve, "I'm sorry fellows, but perhaps you wouldn't mind?" She tipped her head away from the table.

"Do I know you?" The second Preventer asked, more politely curious.

"Hey, what's going on?"

A new voice appeared, and suddenly her back corner table had four Preventers circling it, although she felt significantly more at ease with the additional two. The one who spoke was Trowa Barton, who had walked up just then with Heero Yuy who watched with only a silent acknowledging tip of his head. Trowa was attractive enough to cause a slight emotional sputter in her stomach.

"Nothing, sir," Peterson made a slight formal acknowledgment before taking his leave.

"Great, Barton, I didn't need a rescue," she heard Nichol's scowl even as she smiled quite cheekily at Trowa, unable to stop admiring his pretty green eyes and the curve of his cheek. She's always admired Trowa's appearance quite unashamedly, "You know that it's stuff like that," Nichol's frustration stole his ability to communicate clearly, and she fought back a laugh now that she didn't feel as protective, "People like that, well, that's why I'm not interested in your so-called peace keeping unit."

"Right," Trowa said simply, "You know the offer is open, so I'm not going to ask. I simply came over because Dorothy's here and she asked about you."

Nichol stopped trying to talk, and didn't say anything.

~*~

Then

~*~

After taking their leave of the Catalonia estate, Nichol felt immediate relief. Hilde mentioned his mother a few times, politely waiting to see if he wanted to talk about it, which he didn't, and then they found an affordable shuttle to the main colony in the L-2 region. For Hilde it was going home, and he suspected that her home would be significantly more welcoming.

Unlike his feeling of lacking purpose and direction, Hilde started to make plans for a scrap yard, insisting that her minimal experience working at one enabled her to start one of her own.

"Metal is important, scrap is important. Any bit can be reshaped, reused and is the essential element of colony survival when it comes down to it. And this trade would give me a great connection with the inter-colony and Earth trade systems, open communication and such."

He listened to her talk and basked in her enthusiasm; although, nothing he knew could have prepared him for the work she had in mind for him. And her immediate business success. People swarmed to her like a lighthouse to guide the colonists around the rocks that might set them back. Her opinion monopolized the growth of her colony, and he didn't even need to find an excuse to stay with her.

"Come over for dinner and I'll show you the blueprints I have for revising the back rooms into a large, more open storage area. We could fit an entire shuttle in there, if we wanted to build one." Hilde's invitations were constant and warm, even though he still looked at the stars with apprehension. Even after his time in the colonies and on Barge, Nichol knew he'd never appreciate the night sky unless he was back on Earth.

His apartment was not far from where she made her home at the junkyard, so he decided to walk. The unlocked gate wasn't unusual, but caused him to pause long enough to notice that almost every light in Hilde's place was turned on, which was unlike her colonist frugal upbringing about resources. He hadn't heard of any recent trouble in their neighborhood, but even though the war was over, people were not all to be trusted.

He shuffled off the main walkway up to her front door and stepped around to see in the window.

"Get out of the bushes, Nicky, I'm alright." Hilde's chipper voice called out as she opened the front door and peered out at him, "You've gotten rusty in the stealth department." As he rubbed the back of his neck with one hand and dusted bush leaves off his shirt with the other, Nichol noticed her eye twitch involuntarily, putting him back on guard.

"What is it?" He asked, wondering how comfortable he'd become to get used to living without a handgun. Used to living without a uniform. His eyes adjusted to the lighting of Hilde's home, and he got his first good look at her guests.

Three. Three of the Gundam Pilots. He recognized Duo Maxwell and Heero Yuy from the hospital, when Hilde talked Heero out of shooting the OZ traitor. And as for OZ traitors, the third ex-pilot was Trowa Barton. The instinctive dislike he felt at the very sight of the slim man let his face betray every emotion.

"Uh, you know Heero, Duo and, this is Trowa."

"Why are you here?" He addressed his question to Duo, feeling somewhat more comfortable with the most smiley of the three interlopers. Duo was not a stranger to the L-2 colonies and had visited before. Hilde had frequent panic attacks that he would show up unexpected and when her home was a mess.

"Part pleasure, all business." Duo Maxwell could have charmed an angry lion with his personality alone, and Nichol benefited from the offering of comfort. All three men wore Preventers uniforms, and he half wondered if they were going to arrest him.

Hilde tried to get them all into seats, offered them drink, brought them drinks when they all declined and seemed unable to stay stationary for long. Nichol wished he had her excuse for movement and felt quite pinned by the other three's silent appraisal.

"What do you want?" He asked again, trying to be polite for Hilde's sake since she still regarded those original Gundam terrorists as her heroes. Nichol's opinion of them was a little less flattering.

"We've actually come in order to ask you, and your sister, if you would be interested in joining the President's new Preventer task force." Trowa Barton answered, he sat on a stool at the bar separating the living room from the kitchen, next to Heero.

"You mean after the incident with Dekim Barton," Nichol took some pleasure in saying the last name, "the government found it important to shape up their only line of defense?"

"And it is being shaped up, as you put it," Trowa didn't sound particularly eager to convince anyone of anything, "For one thing, they've agreed to reconsider the restrictions on participation to include a variety of talents and interests."

"Um, like traitors?" Nichol asked, slouching further into the easy chair.

"Yes, in some cases." Trowa nodded, his lack of emotion only deepening Nichol's scowl.

"What kind of invitation is this? Who sent you?" Nichol asked, tempering his voice best he could. Duo Maxwell seemed to want to take over the conversation and kept being silence by quick looks from Heero Yuy.

Trowa glanced over his shoulder to where Nichol took a new look at his sister's expression that seemed one of desperate uncertainty. "Hilde?" He asked, unable to get an answer from anyone.

"I-I . . ."

"Someone tell him." Duo Maxwell fumed.

To his surprise, it was Heero Yuy that spoke first, "The Preventers have been trying to recruit Hilde Schbeiker. She said she wouldn't consider joining unless you were offered a position."

"What?" He asked, disbelieving, "Why would the Preventers bother Hilde? Her experience, sure, but it's nothing that you can't do without. Why drag her in this political game?"

"Because I have connections to colony activists that haven't been satisfied with the outcome of the war. They want to use me for eyes and ears." Hilde said, keeping back in the shadow of the wall and not looking at him.

"So you want her to work undercover and yet you three just walk in here and anyone can see?" Nichol leaned forward in his seat, "That doesn't seem very smart to me."

"Officially," Duo said, "We're recruiting you."

"I don't like this." Nichol shook his head, "And I don't particularly want to work with you people, either. Anyone would know that Hilde wasn't a spy . . . " He found their reactions odd. Barton blank, Maxwell intent, Yuy almost looked approving.

"Oh." He paused, feeling his temper immediately dropping, "Well, I don't know what clue you were looking for, but we can just stop this conversation now." Nichol saw Hilde meet his eyes with a strange pride. "If you boys have had me on surveillance you should know I'm not in the least interested in joining . . . or destroying your damn little unit. Or the world."

"Well, I guess we'll just have to take your word for it." Duo smiled, more genuinely, "Honestly, though, you weren't demonstrating any threat. You're just one of the few OZ officers that isn't connected to us or in prison. With your history of . . ."

"Enough," Nichol felt suddenly weary, "Tell me that recruiting Hilde was a ploy and I might consider letting you leave here uninjured."

"Well, we did ask her . . ." Duo said playfully ducking around the counter. Nichol had to wonder about the intentions of the boy toward his sister.

"But I said, 'no'!" Hilde pushed him back with a snap of the kitchen towel.

"Then I asked her to go to the Christmas party on Earth with me," Duo smiled lopsidedly, "She agreed to that one."

"I said 'maybe'," her feeble retort annoyed Nichol who shook his head from the intensity of his previous emotion.

"Duo's going to stay here for a while." Trowa continued, and Nichol wondered if his old rival felt just as uncomfortable that after all their adversity they essentially ended up on the same side, "He knows L-2 best and we are suspicious of some parties last scene in this cluster."

"You boys need to shape that unit up. Haven't they heard of surveillance?" Nichol found his dark humor.

"That's what I asked," Heero had spoken, and Nichol regarded him with an old soldier's curiosity. He wondered what motivated them to keep following the path of a weapon, whether in war or in peacetime. Their part essentially was the same. Duo Maxwell obviously felt a keen call of duty and adventure. Barton probably didn't have anything better to do than righteously patrol the universe. But Nichol thought Heero Yuy looked a little rough on the edge, as if he needed a time of peace as much as Nichol himself did.

"Stop it!" Hilde cried out, blushing furiously as Duo tried flirting and wrapping his arms around her to taste whatever she was preparing for dinner. At the same time, Trowa Barton officially dismissed himself and Heero Yuy. Heero paused in the doorway, and turned his chin to glance back inside when reaching out to close the door.

Nichol thought it noteworthy that the young man seemed to want one more appreciative glance at Hilde Schbeiker. Heero caught Nichol watching him and matched his gaze for a moment before leaving.

~*~

Now

~*~

Dorothy leaned against Nichol's arm her fingers laced over his shoulder. Hilde watched as the tall girl relaxed into him and her breathing slowed almost to the point of sleeping. A pleasant greeting was the most either of them had spoken to each other. Hilde wondered why Dorothy was there, and through conversation with Trowa she learned of Dorothy's connection to the Sank Kingdom and thereby, Relena.

"Relena does like to collect the misfits of the galaxy," Hilde muttered to herself, watching where the Ambassador was dancing with Heero Yuy. The timing of his movements were spun methodically to the tempo of the instruments in the far corner of the hall. His stiff precision was a form of grace and yet it seemed misplaced with the more fluid rhythm of the ex-Queen who diplomatically appeared to have surrendered the lead of the dance to the standard of social norms.

"She's thoughtful," Trowa nodded, "And thorough in that she did not forget Dorothy." He glanced over at the blonde girl and a new blankness entered the thoughts of his face as if he was slipping into the past and things often forgotten until circumstances brought out deeper relevance.

Heero and Relena paused next to them, as a young blond man cut in to take a dance from the girl who never left the dance floor. Heero watched after them for a moment, then noticing Trowa and the others put his hands into his pockets and walked over to stand near Hilde's ear that Trowa wasn't using.

Hilde tapped her foot with a new nervousness and shaking her head, caught a glimpse of Nichol looking at her and with an amused twist to his lip.

"It's stuffy," Heero said, with the clipped tongue of someone who only imitated small talk.

Hilde nodded once, watching as the young blond man, Quatre Winner, if she remembered his name correctly, dipped the Ambassador until they both were caught up in laughter. Quatre hardly let Relena catch her breath before starting her around the floor again with well-tempered speed and familiar grace. Other couples parting out of their way as if their path together was pre-orchestrated. Hilde's thoughts likewise started to wind and wander.

"It's easier if you keep moving," Heero tried again.

She felt very short between the two ex-Gundam Pilots. But it was a comforting place to be, even as she felt a rush of alcoholic warmth flaring up her neck and down into the folds of her borrowed dress.

"Have you danced tonight?" The Asian man tipped his chin to glance down sharply at her, and Hilde took in a breath, "No."

She saw an expression on his face that uncannily reminded her of Relena, one that seemed almost caught up in an old dream from a story remembered from the nursery that promised a happy future. Hilde wondered how often that look slipped across the rigid features of the perfect soldier and a new interest took hold of her that she had never considered letting take root before.

Freezing for a moment, Hilde glanced over at Nichol, feeling as if she needed his approval. She hadn't danced with anyone so far that night. And the year before, she'd only danced with Duo. Duo Maxwell who was suspiciously absent, and she was still too frustrated to ask why no one else had commented. And too reluctant to ask herself.

He offered her a hand, his wrist still youthfully thin, but strong as it reached out from the aristocratic cuff. Hilde apparently had not been the only person that Relena had dressed that evening.

"You're brother shouldn't have to ask you," Heero led her out with enough of a pull that she felt quite removed from where she'd been standing in simple conversation with Trowa before, "And I remember that you liked to dance and dance well."

"Duo likes to show off. It was mostly him," Hilde made effort to find her brother and the others from over Heero's shoulder. She caught the clearest glimpse of Dorothy's pale face lifted away from Nichol's dark figure and slightly smiling at them. The military precision of his movements were to be expected, she'd watched them long enough that evening. But it seemed to melt in his wrists and in the way his fingers gently touched her skin.

They didn't speak as Hilde felt struck with a sudden bashfulness and doubt. Duo made everything easy, easy to love him and easy to feel betrayed by him when everyone else loved him too. He was never so reserved. Trowa and her brother had their own ways of being reserved. Distrusting and distant mingled with a frankness and inner warmth. She knew how to bring them out and make them comfortable. She'd never given Heero Yuy much thought, so in their relative solitude her tongue felt trapped between casual yapping and absolute silence.

Why couldn't she just feel grateful? When in truth, he made her suddenly feel very unplugged.

She glanced up to catch him watching her with a gentle perplexity, not unlike the way he was holding her.

"I like your hair." He said at last, and as curtly as he had commented on the atmosphere of the room.

The quiet broken, Hilde felt a laugh rush up that she could hardly contain it as it shook her full length in one rapid, muffled burst. He lost step and Hilde found herself propelling them both around in a loop that nearly had them barreling into a couple of older diplomats that sparkled with extra jewelry.

"Oh. Thank you." She hiccuped, feebly trying to cover her mouth with a hand that she'd freed to partially hide her smile. He was trying rather hard, and she fought back laughing. "I'm sorry." She wheezed, "I just spent so much of my time trying to be witty and brilliant last year, that I guess I just need to relax. This is now."

"This is now." Heero repeated dumbly with a slight nod, looking rather mystified.

~*~

Nichol watched with mild amusement as the Asian Preventer hero offer to dance with his sister. He still found it amusing as they waltzed around just off beat, Hilde with her eyes on her feet and Heero staring blankly at the crown of her head. That changed when he realized he was alone with Trowa Barton, who was not his favorite person and Dorothy started to stir from where she had collapsed against him.

"Awake, Dotty?" He asked, and took her attempt at a low-throated purr as confirmation, "My left side is falling asleep, perhaps you'd like to dance?"

Dorothy pulled herself back and stretched luxuriously with her slim, pale arms in the air lifting the folds of her yellow dress and she shook out her hair, "I think I could."

"Great," Nichol folded his arms, flexing the left one cautiously, "Ask Barton over here. He looks right bored watching everyone else." The reddish-brown hair of the young man flipped so that Nichol had a brief glimpse of alarm in both green eyes. "You can dance," Nichol said, matter-of-factly.

"Yes, if you'd like," The tall boy acquiesced to Dorothy who seemed puzzled but not dismayed. Both reactions answering a question for Nichol.

"Go. Go." Nichol waved them away, feeling rather charitable.

This was now.

He used the new freedom to slip out a side door and walk outside into the cooler night air. The ballroom was stuffy if one stood still for too long. No one else was around to interrupt his solitude, even the orchestra music was muffled letting him here the crickets and night sounds of Earth.

Nichol braced his arms against the cool stone rail and closed his eyes for a moment. Letting his other senses benefit from the sensations of evening without the distraction of sight. Hearing the leaves and feeling the chill of the night breeze. Tasting the slight damp from the not too distant ocean. The smell of salt.

Bending forward he rested his crossed arms against the rail and looking over the dark shadowed field he could see the moonlight reflecting off the water now. Water that only showed its surface and none of the secrets deep in the dark. Moonlight and starlight.

Looking up, he saw the night sky that he remembered best.

This was now.

Tomorrow, everything else, would have to sort itself out--some other time.


	4. Chapter 4

His memories of the war and his time with OZ surfaced without preamble. Occasionally, he'd be reading a newspaper article and he'd remember an off duty moment on Barge playing cards with his crew-mates. A particular smell from the garage might remind him of a shift spent polishing up his Mobile Dolls. They came back to him like snapshots. Frozen moments that ignited every sense in some way, yet did not contain movement.

Moments of shame were chiseled and unforgiving. Moments of peace and success seemed overwhelmed by displays of inadequacy.

Douglas Nichol shivered as he made his way home from his sister, Hilde's, house. He'd lived in space for years, this colony itself had been his home for a couple of years consecutively. However, for all that time, he still felt restless. The sidewalk under his feet and the grass just to either side seemed real enough. If he stopped to run his fingers through the vegetation or strayed from his relentless pace to walk into someone's yard, he knew it wouldn't feel any different from Earth. Still, he couldn't help but complain about the subtle gravitational shifts he could feel as the colony made its rotation and the unnerving unplacable "sunlight" that shown from every which way.

Hilde would indulge him until she determined that he was being insufferable and would gently make him remind her why he persisted in avoiding Earth.

"Golly, Nicky," Hilde would put her hands on either hip, her nose smudged with grease or flour depending on if their conversation started in the shop or in her kitchen, "Why is it that every reason why you're avoiding your home planet is of the female gender? I swear, you wouldn't go back unless you could find some agreeable woman up to your standards. Impossible as those standards are." She'd add the last with some sisterly flair, waving her wrench or wooden spoon.

In most every way, Hilde was right. He was avoiding the home where he grew up because of his mother. He avoided the military position that had been offered him because he felt like a disgrace around his former commanding officer.

He stayed on the colonies because of Hilde. With his sister, he felt like he had acceptance.

And with a recent addition, Nichol realized he wasn't the only one who craved Hilde's attentions.

Heero Yuy had transferred to their colony. The transfer had started as a vacation and then Heero had requested an assignment to become the Preventor liaison with the local peace keeping authorities. Of course the colony had been more than eager to welcome an ex-Gundam Pilot and war hero into their organization.

Hilde had been quite open to letting Heero stop by and visit. The infiltration of Heero Yuy into their daily lives had all started out with a slobbering yellow lab named Daisy. Apparently, Heero had a soft spot for puppies and Daisy apparently liked to take nightly walks past Hilde's neighborhood needing frequent breaks at Hilde's house.

Nichol snorted even as he kicked a rock sitting on the sidewalk. He'd never pegged Heero Yuy for having a soft spot for any person, let alone a pet.

Of course, having Heero appear had triggered more of the memories that Nichol would rather leave behind him. He remembered a younger countenance of the Asian man with the slop that OZ considered prisoner's rations splattered across his face after a moment in which Heero Yuy's smart ass comment had been a fast trigger to Nichol's insecure rage. He found himself wiping clammy hands against his thighs while Heero lounged on the living room carpet with his dog and secretly stole glances at Nichol's sister to make sure he had her attention and her amusement.

Of course, Heero was always very cordial with Hilde's older brother. Everyone knew within seconds of meeting Hilde that she would not accept anyone tormenting her brother except herself. He vacillated between relief that she'd never abandon him and aggravation that he seemed pathetically dependent on her. But the one torment that Hilde couldn't fix was his own unresolved defeats from his past.

Solitude wasn't helping him either. He stared ahead, hands deep in his coat pockets, hating the fact that the colonies mimicked sunsets as the uniform lighting started to change from yellow into orange.

The suburbs were changing to shops as he entered the business district. After his first lease was up, Nichol had moved above one of the local restaurants. They closed at a decent hour so that noise wasn't an issue, sometimes he got free food giving him some independence from eating at Hilde's, and he didn't notice the lingering smell of cooked meat that Hilde claimed she could smell on his clothes. Besides, the rent was so decent that he was actually saving as much money as he spent out. With his military funds suspended, Nichol had struggled to find a frugal side in his personality.

Ironically enough at that moment, Nichol saw the sign above the door which read "The Sunrise." Most of the restaurant's customers were retired colonists. On his days off, Nichol and one of the colony's oldest citizens, Alistair Lewis, would play checkers while drinking lukewarm coffee. His entrance was up a flight of the fire escape in the alley just to the side of The Sunrise.

Nichol turned the corner without a thought and found his feet tripping over some knee high metal box and barely had time to catch himself before his skull hit the concrete.

~*~

Hilde watched her brother leave with a cheery smile on her face, but reservation tugging at her stomach. She watched as he grew surly and dark while Heero's presence lingered uncontested in her house. While she most wanted Nichol's approval, she was determined not to let him dictate whom she kept for company.

She turned to sit on the couch that Nichol had vacated, and she felt the familiar weight of Heero coming up to sit next to her. Heero could become just as surly and dark as her brother, so having both of them to take care of taxed her patience. But she couldn't deny that they'd both been trying noticeably hard to get along in the past few months.

Heero's lab, Daisy, lolled on the floor full and sated from the attention she received.

Heero himself seemed rather full energy still; although, he kept himself in check sitting with his hands on either side of his knees and glancing at her from underneath the dark fringe he seldom had cut.

"I think I make your brother uncomfortable," He said at last, watching her for a reaction. Hilde was trying to get used to having him track her. Heero always seemed to know where she was so he could simply look up and find her at all times.

"Nicky's always uncomfortable around anything that makes him have to deal with the past," She tried smiling and watched as Heero's eyes softened and his mouth relaxed. After Christmas, she'd been baffled with a strange new attraction for the war hero with the most suicide attempts listed on his record. Of course, he wasn't easy to be attracted to when his features drew her with frightening intensity. She'd found Trowa Barton pretty and Duo Maxwell had enough personality to make her heart flutter. But Heero Yuy made her forget to breathe.

Hilde knew that his transfer was no coincidence. His persistence gave her some reassurance that such strong emotions were not in vain, but she was terrified nonetheless.

And watching how she could influence his own comfort frightened her as well.

She felt him lift her near hand with his own and gently touch his lips to her knuckles, "I feel peaceful around you, Hilde." He wouldn't meet her eyes with a sudden bashfulness which he tried to cover up with quick words, "I'm sure that you help heal your brother's heart as well."

"It's," Hilde started, then realized that his leaning toward her was very purposeful, "not quite the same. No."

She saw the gently possessive light in his dark eyes as he was too close for her to see the actual smile, "No, not quite the same."

And then he kissed her.

~*~

"Damn it. What the hell?" Nichol tried to roll on his left side, one foot still hooked over the obstacle that had sent him sprawling once he'd turned into the alley on his way home. His hands hurt, his heart still hammered from the close call of breaking his skull open and he knew that half of his body was going to bear painful bruises to remind him of the clumsy fall for days if not weeks to come, "Who the . . . who are you?"

Nichol scowled finishing his roll to sit in the alley street with his legs crossed up onto the curb of the sidewalk. He tried to compose himself, already embarrassed enough as it was that he'd fallen and then let his vocabulary slip into something less than wholesomely admirable. In most cases he would care, but right then he found himself confronted with a rather pretty woman with a look of shock on her delicate features. Her mouth was working but no sounds were coming out.

"Okay," Nichol rubbed the back of his neck, and the breeze coming around the corner was starting to cool the perspiration of panic that had instantly developed there. "I know it wasn't intentional, and I accept your apology. My name is Douglas, and you are . . ." He lifted his eyebrows and waited to see if her slim lips were merely polished decoration or would form words.

"I'm sorry," She said clearly, as if having recaptured her voice. Her own eyebrows lifted into an amazed expression, "But I suppose you've already assumed that. As for my name." She paused for a moment and glanced at the silver object Nichol had tripped over. He realized it was a suitcase, "You can call me Sally."

"Sally," He nodded curtly, nursing his bruised pride and trying to regain it with verbal composure even as he sat and hoping the ache from his fall would diminish, "Alright, Sally, I am rather curious why you've set up business right outside of my home."

"Your home?" Then she glanced at the fire escape and up the stairs, "You're the renter." She surmised.

"Quick thinking and yes," Nichol quipped, but still felt ill at ease. She hadn't answered his question. He doubted she was terrorist material, and his gut instinct had proven itself reliable even during his time on Barge. Barge. His eyes narrowed, "You're military, aren't you?" He didn't recognize her, but he did have an idea what was in the suitcase now.

"I believe it takes one to know one," She was still on guard, that he didn't doubt, but she hadn't identified him as hostile either, "But yes, military. But lets not put on labels, you can consider me a free thinking defender of peace."

Nichol couldn't decide whether to cringe at the insane concept or admire her upfront honesty. Most soldiers identified with a group or at best a cause. Seldom did they admit to flexible loyalties hinged upon a greater truth. At one time, he would have said his career was balanced on a greater truth. But since then, he'd suffered disillusionment at the purity of 'duty' divorced from . . . love.

He watched her warily.

"I'm retired," he said at last, realizing she expected her courteous revelation of intentions to be reciprocated. He chose her route of vagueness.

"That's good," her blue eyes twinkled, and he again felt an odd balance of annoyance at being teased and interpreting the emotion as affectionately warm, "It's the whole reason why I find purpose in continuing to built the foundation of peace. So soldiers could return to their former way of life."

He choked on her idealism, and nearly sputtered, "That's all well and good for you to say. But you don't know me."

"I've offended you. I didn't mean to," Sally watched him with some interest. Even so, she quickly packed up her equipment, but not before Nichol had seen through her current purpose.

"Who are we tracking, Sally?" He crossed his arms, and even as he stayed seated, the pain of his fall having faded, he managed to feel some of his old authority when addressing another military person.

She looked at him as an officer evaluates a potentially useful cadet, "A banker." She said at last, "One who does not defend peace."

"Anything I can do to help?" Nichol said, "I do live here after all. Right across from," he glanced at the buildings on the opposite side of the main street, "A bank. This is where I live, and what soldier truly retires from his responsibility?" Responsibility. Nichol tasted the word and remembered he had been missing it.

"I see the advantage of your offer and accept," Sally stood up and offered Nichol her hand, "Douglas, was it? You can let me into your apartment."

He took her hand, but made sure to lift most of his weight himself. Her fingers were slightly cool in his own. Without speaking, he indicated that she should go up the stairs ahead of him. She nodded, closing her angled blue eyes in the process so that he realized how distracting they had been when fixed on him.

On one hand, he couldn't wait to make a tale out of his evening adventure of taking a woman to his apartment with Hilde. On the other hand, he was letting this woman go into a bachelor's apartment he hadn't even let his sister see.

He scrambled up the stairs behind her, pulling the key out of his pocket, "Um, maybe I should go in first. Wait here."

He gave her a desperate and insincere smile as he slipped into his apartment, paused, then shut the door in her face leaving her outside on the staircase.

~*~

After watching Heero's affections for Daisy, Hilde shouldn't have been so surprised to find that the universe's most perfect soldier was a snuggler. She vaguely remembered the harsh precisions of their first dance together the past December, but it seemed that since then he'd accepted a new mission. Simply to try to be happy.

He had her wrapped by his arms full length on the couch and after a while had taken an interest in smelling her hair. He looked into the oddest things to find happiness.

"I have a memory of you," he spoke into her hair, and she murmured acknowledgment against his shoulder blade, "The information you brought from Libra. I remember taking the disc from your hand while we were trying to stop your internal bleeding and hook you up for a medical transport back to earth."

"Oh, I'm sure I looked very cute," Hilde scoffed, torn between feeling proud and incredibly silly that he'd seen her and remembered her.

"Not really," He breathed a warm laugh into her hair, "I hadn't seen anything like you before. I filed you away as an ally with above average mobile suit and infiltration skills, with a tendency toward suicidal missions."

"Did you," Hilde chuckled, feeling the edge of his shirt collar with her fingertips as if she could read his thoughts like Braille, "Well, you weren't far off."

"You still have those skills," he began again, more tentatively, as if trying to speak a language he had only heard but never spoken. Heero captured the hand that was near his collar and pressed it against his chest, "You still have infiltration skills."

"And is this a suicide mission?" Hilde whispered, tearing up at his gesture.

"In some ways," Heero replied.

~*~

Nichol opened the door to find Sally patiently leaning against the railing with her legs crossed and the silver suitcase of surveillance equipment in front of her, "Okay. It's safe to come in now." He tried to joke, but found his traitorous hand rubbing at the back of his neck in a repeat of his sheepish habit.

"Hide everything I shouldn't see?" She teased. Her smiles were small and barely creased her smooth cheeks, but they still communicated the same mocking wattage as he's seen from one of Hilde's widespread grins.

He chose to ignore her comment, "The window here," he shuffled across the poorly lit room to the front window, "has a nice angle on your bank. Employees all enter through the front door as they most park in the lot just to the left." He paused, watching as Sally started to balance a camera on his windowsill and checked the video feed in a mobile monitor. Even with the light quickly fading, the camera automatically switched to night vision and kept a clear image.

Nichol restlessly shifted his weight, "Preventer, I'd imagine?"

"Yes," She nodded, starting to fix the camera in place with sturdy tape.

"I hope that doesn't peel up the paint," Nichol grimaced, then shrugged when she shot him an inquisitive look, "Anything I can do to help, I'm a good guy here."

"I can tell," she responded to his comment without turning again. He frowned, but she didn't have the benefit of seeing, "Douglas. Douglas Nichol?"

He grimaced, "Yeah, that's me." Knowing his name usually brought predetermined opinions on his character even if she didn't see him as an immediate enemy. She pointed at the pile of unopened mail on the desk next to where she'd set the briefcase.

"I work with a unit that tracks potentially hostile or mentally unstable ex-military," Sally lifted her hands away from the camera gently and went back to adjust the electronic equipment.

He glanced at her sharply, but her fingers continued to type on the fold out keyboard unhurried and uninterrupted. His abrupt personality bubbled to the surface like acid, "Not here to keep an eye on Douglas Nichol are you, Sally? That's been done before."

Sally did turn hearing his tone, she regarded him with a passive expression, "While I do have some curiosity as to why you're the only established military individual to turn down an officers position with the Preventers, I can assure you that I am only here to monitor this banker."

"You're awful free about giving me what is probably classified information," Nichol said, his suspicions not put at rest.

She stood straight and in the shallow lighting of his living room, Nichol could not determine her expression, "For all your talk about responsibility, I haven't told you anything that you can't manage, have I?"

For a moment, in the darkness, her blonde hair turned chestnut and her twin braids might have been coiled at the base of her neck. Nichol's stomach turned.

"Now that that's settled," suddenly she was very much only Sally and the ghostly overlapping image had disappeared, "As for my next confidential revelation: where can I get some ice cream?"

~*~

After sleep threatened their conversation, Hilde had insisted that they sit at the kitchen table so that she could start some coffee and cookies, which she secretly hoped would turned out better than usual in her lopsided heating oven.

Heero kept both of his hands firmly wrapped around his mug, and one side of his hair was flat on end from the couch. She wondered if Heero noticed his appearance or if he really thought about it at all. Duo had been fun to shop with as he enjoyed shopping for clothes as a way to escape from his military obligations. Heero, by contrast, didn't seem to avoid his training and instead appeared to evaluate everything through his fighting experience. But it wasn't a bitter relationship with his life as a soldier, like her brother often viewed his abilities. Heero approached it all quite naturally.

The diminishing pain of new feelings still buzzed through her system like a second heartbeat, but she had to wonder if he had only been drawn to her battle experiences. Or if he could truly accept the Hilde who diminished to work at a scrap yard.

Daisy, finally sensing their progression to the kitchen, yawned and pawed her way over to lay at Heero's feet under the table.

"She'll be wanting her share once she realizes we're eating something," Heero reached down and Daisy growled easily in response to his brief attention.

"Why did you name her Daisy?" Hilde glanced at her watch and decided to sit opposite him for a while.

Heero paused over his answer, and dropped his eyes, "Flowers," He admitted, "I liked flowers when I was small, but I'd forgotten that at some point. Until I realized I had to name her something."

"Daisy, huh?" Hilde's eyes crinkled in amusement, "Not Snapdragon or Venus Flytrap?"

Heero stared at her, then covered his mouth as he started to laugh.

~*~

Sally was finishing off his plain chocolate ice cream with a spoon, and seemed rather unashamed to ask him personal questions that he avoided. Which in an alternating pattern annoyed and flattered him. In fact, she kept him so on edge that he started to check his watch to see what ridiculous hour she might stop her surveillance and let him sleep.

"I wanted to be a doctor," Sally said, her sudden shift to personal information catching Nichol pushing up his sleeve to check the time again, "My mother died when I was very young. Our country wasn't well off during the Federation Era and no one was available to give her the care that she needed. I decided that if I could, I was going to make that difference."

"Military doctor?" Nichol gave her an evaluating glance, she hadn't seemed like a medic to him. She had taken the chair that went with the desk where she'd set up her temporary base of operations. He sat on the only other piece of furniture available, his sister's castoff beanbag. His shoulders leaned against the wall and his feet were propped up on the coffee table. Besides the bed put away in his bedroom, Nichol hadn't bothered with much furniture since staying at Hilde's was more convenient. At least before Heero Yuy started showing up, he reminded himself.

"General practice at first," Sally replied, finishing off the ice cream after that comment and setting it on the floor next to her seat. Nichol didn't move choosing to agree that the floor was a good place for the carton right then, "But with the changing climate, I found my experience really expanded beyond simply medicine."

"OZ?" Nichol asked, absently.

"Nothing so simple," Sally shook her head, "Guerrilla in my own country, until I found a way to better serve my people."

"Not OZ, ex-Federation, let me guess," Nichol scowled, "You were a Gundam groupie?"

"Did you meet the pilots?" She asked, lips closed and waiting for his response.

He had an image of Trowa Barton sitting next to Colonel Une during a debriefing on Barge and how his panicked irritation at the boy's presence during a discussion of such delicate intelligence information had nearly kept him from hearing any of the details himself.

"Yeah," Nichol left it at that.

She didn't say anything until she was sure he wasn't going to speak again on the matter, "After the war, I helped in the hospitals to meet the needs of the wounded. It was worse than when I was a child, but we were able to make a small difference in keeping some of our soldiers out of the memorial cemetery."

He remembered sitting next to Une's life support bed while their shuttle landed on Earth, knowing that he was going to survive with his life and that he had no idea what his purpose was, until he had found Hilde again.

"Why are you watching for this banker?" Nichol asked, finally. Wanting to drown so completely in the present so that the past had no room to leak out any more than it had already.

"According to his electronic communications, he's anti-colony but has lost his privileges to return to Earth," Sally shared.

"Lost his privileges?" Nichol questioned, he found the humming of Sally's equipment to be rather soothing and felt his eyes falling closed.

"A rather significant restraining order," Sally's voice seemed to come from a far distance, "he made public threats against the several key political figures, including my commander."

He knew who her commander was, and while the words tried to prick his skin like a needle testing for a latent disease, the pain was so familiar it could hardly keep him from falling asleep anymore.

~*~

After hearing Heero adamantly insisting that he liked charcoal cookies, Hilde finally believed he forgave her for loosing track of time during their conversation. Daisy seemed genuinely unbothered by the smoky flavor.

When she did finally see the time, the cookies were practically a lost cause and Hilde began to wonder if Heero was going to leave. Even when he did stand up from the table he seemed to shuffle his feet along the linoleum worse than his golden lab.

She wondered if he felt well, if he was doing an imitation of a drunk, or had other intentions. Then she saw the reflexive twitching of his narrow fingers as his arms dangled at his waist. He was insecure, and a warm rush of emotion covered her skin like direct desert daylight.

"Heero," She said his name and remembered the way he had held her hand against his chest. He had given her the initiative. Stepping closer to him, she put her arms under his in a clumsy embrace until he responded in kind, "I'll miss you. Come back tomorrow, okay?"

"Hai," Heero spoke down into her hair, slipping into his native tongue. She felt him press a kiss on top of her head. When she let him go, she saw that his face wore a half-dreaming expression, "Come, Daisy." And the dog scrambled up from under the table to mind her master.

She fell with her back against the door after closing it behind him. Sleep seemed impossible. Hilde wondered if her brother could handle a phone call at such a late hour.

She rolled to one side in order to peek out the front window and saw Heero half skipping down the sidewalk with Daisy bounding around his legs in the uncertain frenzy of an excited pet. It seemed as if she'd were going to tangle him until he stopped, but Heero managed to keep his balance for all of Daisy's interference. She watched until they disappeared in the shadows outside of the streetlight.

Feeling like a coiled wire, she went to splash water on her face and stared at herself in the mirror with clear droplets in various places on her cheeks and chin. Suddenly weary, she knew she was ready for a long sleep. When she would wake up, everything in her life would be transformed. She was in love.

~*~

Nichol fought back the groan to release his stiff muscles when he realized that not only had he fallen asleep in the living room, but that a strange woman, Sally, was still sitting at her monitor. She was a taller woman than Hilde, he noticed, as her legs seemed uncommonly long. Not that he'd particularly been looking at women's legs recently. She was balancing her chin on one arm and the other one was feeding herself a pickle.

The open jar sat in front of the silver suitcase that he'd fallen over.

"What time is it?" He asked even as he started to pull his sleeve up to find his watch.

"Five in the morning," Sally said, and he realized that she had a lower voice for a woman. Or perhaps she was speaking with a throat tired from lack of sleep. Not that he would call what he'd just woken up from a good sleep. "The staff is just starting to make their appearances."

Nichol leaned forward in the beanbag, which seemed permanently indented to his sleeping posture. He held his forehead for a moment, giving himself a chance to reorient to the unexpected circumstances.

"Pickle?" Sally offered, waving a hand at the jar but keeping her eyes on the transmitted image.

"Ice cream?" Nichol asked indulging in a little sarcasm.

"No, finished that off hours ago. Sorry," She did turn and flash him her muted, but almost perverse small smile.

"Cruel," Nichol muttered standing up, from where he stood he could see the bank from across the way, but not the entrance from the street. The colony light was starting to return with increasing power, "I have to ask, how long is your monitoring going to last, Sally? I can't really let you stay here at length without asking you to get your own pickles."

"Just today," Sally said with confidence, "The bomb is scheduled to detonate today. So either I'll have settled that matter or," She smiled at him with her wry grin, "Or there won't even be an apartment for us to share."


	5. Chapter 5

. . . Before . . .

After a handful of hours practicing meditation with Chang Wufei in his monastery home, Sally Po thought she'd felt the truest liberation. The truest freedom. She could almost feel the chill mountain air heavy with early morning dew touching her skin with a multitude of minuscule kisses. The breeze would blow every wisp of hair back from her forehead. The sounds of silence caressing her ears with spiritual messages. Her body relaxing, legs crossed, arms outstretched, back straight.

He'd taken a strange joy in the role reversal as her meditations guide. His dark brown eyes wearing premature creases around his eyes, but in those moments they were signs of happiness more than the story of war etched into his skin. He only raised his voice to laugh at her efforts to amuse him. Any other battle in spirit had been fought already. His life was given to his faith, and she had embraced him glad to leave him in such strong spirits.

Sally had turned his resignation papers in to Une upon her return to base, which had been moved to Lake Victoria by that point.

"Wufei appreciated the welcome he received," Sally had explained, letting her body sink into the rigid structure of the wooden chair opposite from Une's desk, "It meant a lot to him, more than he said while he was here I'm sure. But I won't say that I wasn't happy to see him returning to a life more ordinary."

At a sound, Sally had looked up to see Une standing next to the gilded birdcage—a peculiar habit that their commander had picked up without preamble. Inside was a pair of dusty lime colored birds. One of them had slurred a brief song before falling silent again.

"Mariemia will miss him," Une had said absently letting one of her fingers slide along the side of the cage, "She talks endlessly about his insufferable personality, but she adores him." Une let her head fall back to smile over one shoulder at Sally, "She wasn't too fond of your amiable relationship with him either."

"Oh," Sally wasn't sure what else to say, except share in Une's maternal amusement.

"I guess it's not comfortable for some of us to imagine living on our own," Une's office seemed suddenly dark as the light coming in through the window disappeared as the sun set. One lamp in the upper corner did it's best to outline the shapes and figures of the room.

Sally looked down at her hands. She heard herself speaking kind words, light-hearted words, comforting words, scolding words. But none of them struck her heart as being the right thing to say in just that moment.

"I suppose I've always envied your ability to make it look so easy," Une said solemnly. The short laugh and playful smile Une left Sally with struck an insincere chord.

. . . Now . . .

"So either I'll have settled that matter or," she smiled at him with her wry grin, "Or there won't even be an apartment for us to share."

Nichol first heard his heavy swallow in his ears, then he heard a shrill low whistle from Sally's equipment. She had been monitoring the bank all night in silence, and it was the first he had heard the alarm. His palms started to sweat immediately with years as a civilian softening his reactions, but his memory resurfaced, "Electronic communication. You have this guy tapped, right?"

"Outgoing," Sally spun in the chair she had been using in order to key a code into her small computer, "Intercepting. Locking on location of source. It's a long message, he's being careless." She struck a key and small roll of paper began to feed and print out a message that she looped over both her hands as it became longer.

"You make that look so easy," Nichol said, accidentally. He hadn't meant to confess his admiration for her solo skills, but she seemed to take the comment in stride.

"His target isn't the bank. He's going to detonate, but we've got to find out what his target is first. Damn." Sally slapped her open palm against the table, and as if the pain brought her thoughts together, she glanced over at Nichol with what appeared as an apologetic grin crossing her small lips.

"The bank's tall enough that he could put out a decent signal in just about any direction," Nichol tried to recapture his military intuition and use it in a disciplined manner.

"Exactly," Sally began to type again, swiftly at the speed of her thoughts, "I've pinpointed the source of the message and called for backup." She stopped breathing for a moment and fixed an appraising look on Nichol, her lips slightly parted and her eyes objective, "You have good instincts, Nichol. Want to test mine and come with? I think you might be helpful."

"You've already called for backup," Nichol regretted his reluctance, feeling the pressure of failure that he knew too well. He'd let too many of his dreams be haunted by the accusations of those he'd disappointed, "I think I'm too civilian for this part."

She nodded once, accepting his answer but notably paused before she spoke, "I agreed to meet the local authorities liaison from Earth downstairs in your restaurant. I could use an extra pair of eyes to make sure that our meeting is safe."

"I could help you that much," Nichol agreed quickly, finding the compromise softened the bruise on his ego. He admired how she'd packed most of her equipment and taken down the camera in a matter of seconds. She dropped the blind with little gentleness that surprised him and the room suddenly seemed quite dark until his eyes adjusted.

"Ready?" Sally asked offering her hand. At first, Nichol thought she meant to give him a boost up from where he'd been indented into the sleeping bag most of the early hours of the morning. Then as he was already mostly up and straightening his sore knees, he saw she meant to shake hands. He reflexively took her grip without thinking, and shook once.

"Partners, okay," She smiled cheerfully, her comment light and comfortable. As if he belonged in her operation all along.

. . .

It took Hilde only a moment to realize why she woke up that morning with a luxurious stretch and a smile splitting her cheeks. She breathed in deeply and pushed off her covers in a rush to go downstairs in a search for evidence that her new feelings were real and not simply a dream.

The smell of burned cookies still lingered in the kitchen and was encouraged by the unwashed utensils from her adventure in feeding Heero. She panicked for a moment that she'd not taken the time to show him how she could clean up in the kitchen and then fought a fit of giggles at how ridiculous her own thoughts seemed to her. She then attacked the mess with enthusiasm that was completely unlike her, in her own opinion, while singing a mess of different songs all strung together and switching tunes when she forgot the words.

She felt healthy, as if everything in the world couldn't be more right.

Hilde was still holding onto the threads of that feeling when she heard the arrival buzz of her intergalactic telebooth. Nichol had whinged when she told him how much her communications device had cost. But at the time, she insisted that her business needed the latest technology in order to keep in touch with clients. Even so, they had a dreadful delay on delivery. Personal equipment always suffered a postponement in channels behind the military and the media. And she'd been struck with too much honesty to get a pirated version of the military model.

In passing she imagined herself taping messages to send to Heero if he were ever reassigned to a different location. But imagining any distance from Heero made her frown. She reassured herself that Heero assigned his own missions. He had the connections.

She flipped the switch to light up the telebooth and pulled a stool from the kitchen in order to sit in front of the view screen. The message was from Trowa Barton.

After entering her code, Hilde was greeted by the blank stare of the tall ex-Gundam Pilot. Then, as if a wax doll coming to life, Trowa started to talk, "Hilde, I hope this finds you well. I feel we're going about this all a little bit backwards, but no one knew how to get a hold of your brother and we didn't want to wait the months for comet mail to deliver a message." At that point, Trowa's words were spilling out faster that Hilde had ever heard him speak before, and his expressions were surprisingly animated. He took a deep breath, brushed his hair back with gangly lean fingers and then smiled, "I asked Dorothy to marry me. Quatre said I was a fool not to marry her after all this time . . ."

"All this time!" Hilde jumped off her stool and leaned in toward the video screen, before feeling foolish like she'd never received a telebooth recording before, "It's only been . . ." she counted on her fingers, " . . . seventeen months!" She winced, realizing how quickly time had passed. All that time, the video of Trowa had continued, with his fingers alternating between combing through his hair or rubbing the back of his neck.

"She really wants Nichol's approval, which I can understand since she's practically his sister . . . too." Hilde would have sworn Trowa's cheeks were turning red, "And I would want his permission to."

"Late to be asking!" Hilde caught herself talking to the screen again. In the six minute video she'd seen more expression on Trowa's face than in all the passing conversations she'd had with the guy. She still couldn't quite figure what had drawn that particular couple together, but wasn't terribly surprised nonetheless. After Libra and her time in Luxembourg, Dorothy had weathered a strange time of isolation and become a calmer, yet still dangerously intelligent young woman. And Nichol loved her unconditionally, which had been a mild source of jealousy for Hilde early on.

"Hilde, I hope this finds you well. I feel we're going about this all a little backwards . . ." She had repeated the message.

"I wonder if she's pregnant?" Hilde thought scandalously, then dismissed the thought. She listened a second time and then saved it for her brother. However was Nichol going to react? While she knew that Nichol had a begrudging respect for Trowa Barton, no love was lost between the two of them given their history on Barge. Just prior to when she herself was arrested for helping Duo Maxwell escape from OZ. Just prior to when she would meet Douglas Nichol for the first time.

Lost in thought for a moment, Hilde felt a little chill.

. . .

Nichol went first, and sat at the front table where he knew long time patron of The Sunrise, Alistair Lewis, would come with his checkerboard. The front of The Sunrise was set up with a little café with a couple tables under the canopies. Nichol ordered coffee from the waitress who recognized him right away with a cup and regular coffee in tow. As he carried a comfortably light conversation with the waitress, Sally meandered into the restaurant and sat at the bar next to the small display of the day's pie selection. He could see her well enough between the stenciled letters on the front window.

The morning was as artificially orchestrated as the sunsets on colony. The cycle of artificial birth and rebirth seemed less insulting to Nichol when he had other matters to occupy his various senses. He'd taken a count of the morning guests over the first sip of coffee and had systematically determined no unexpected variables. Which didn't cause him to drop his guard any less, but put him even more on alert.

Nichol finished his coffee before he recognized the figure of Heero Yuy walking slowly up the length of the city block. Heero had locked eyes with Nichol at the same time, and the deliberateness that settled over both of them left Nichol certain that Heero was on the clock and that he was Sally's contact.

He put the lip of the empty cup to his mouth and didn't drink. Heero sat down at Nichol's table as if he'd planned to stop there all along.

"I wondered if this was your restaurant," Heero said, letting one hand sit on the edge of the table and the other loose in his lap. The breeze from around the corner of blew stronger for a moment causing Heero to narrow his eyes defensively, and Nichol wondered if Heero was suspicious of Hilde's brother's intentions in that moment.

"Yeah," Nichol decided to cut the suspense, "I like the view," He tipped his head at the bank with a painfully suppressed grin, Nichol added, "And the chicks all seem to end up at this place."

The waitress came over just as Heero stood, "I'm going to order inside. Want to join me?"

"No," Nichol shook his head, knowing that if Heero asked again, that his curiosity and urge to feel purpose would have him tagging along on their mission—unpracticed and lax in training.

"In that case, I think you've got the nicest table out here. Enjoy the view." Heero half waved from his waist in one movement and the jingle of the door bells indicated that the Asian Preventer had gone inside to get his mission briefing or to share colony intelligence with Sally.

Nichol accepted a refill on his coffee, and continued to keep his muted surveillance.

. . .

Hilde had cleaned every room in the house before she finally sank into the couch she'd shared with Heero just the night before. She curled onto it sideways and fancied that she might still smell him in the cushions even though she knew the only thing she smelled was the texture of the coarse fabric.

Rolling, she could see the clocks she had lined up on the far wall of the living room. Partially because of the telebooth, partially because of the nature of her business, Hilde like to have a number of clocks each keeping time for different significant locations so that she'd have some idea of when a good time to catch an important person might be.

Just then she wondered if it was too early to call her brother. Next she wondered if she should tell him Dorothy's news or her own news first.

Her feelings for Heero certainly seemed diminished in light of the commitments that Trowa and Dorothy seemed ready to make to each other. She could just imagine the blank stare that Nichol would make hearing that Barton had propositioned the kid sister he'd grown up with. Hilde imagined if that was Nichol's response, what response Mrs. Catalonia must have had. Or even Nichol's mother, who lived with the Catalonia's and held uncontested rule over the estates. Of course, Mrs. Catalonia would have been easier to convince than if Dorothy had been Nichol's true sister. In a brief moment of sympathy, she knew that Nichol would probably never please his mother in any life choices or romantic match.

In a great part, that was due to the fact that Nichol's father—that Hilde's father—had an affair with colonies which had disgraced his family and his politics.

Hilde frowned. For a bastard, she felt she'd done alright. Although, she wasn't quite sure if she'd found true confidence in herself if she hadn't bonded with her half-brother. Or if she hadn't met the silent sturdiness of Heero Yuy. With them, she felt as if she were drawn out rather than pushed deep into the possibility of insecurity.

She wondered what Duo Maxwell was doing. She hadn't seen him in so long.

One of the clocks struck an hour and Hilde realized that she'd been lounging for some time. She reached out for her local colony phone and dialed her brother's number.

After letting it ring several times, she hung up the phone and wondered where her brother had wandered off to.

. . .

When Sally had asked him a second time if he wanted to help, Nichol couldn't resist. He'd been so amused by keeping guard at the front of the restaurant that he was feeling more invincible than he had since before he'd taken his fateful orders to assume command of Barge.

The print out from Sally's computer had indicated that the explosive devise in question was in transit to location. But the location was neither the origin of the message nor it's destination. Therefore, Sally planned to infiltrate the source of the message and search for clues. Heero had brought with him all the necessary stamps and seals to grant them access around the colony. And, in a light-hearted thought, Nichol fancied himself the commanding officer or at least extra-muscle.

He felt that Sally and Heero saw him as the latter when she gave him her equipment to carry. All except a handheld receiver that guided them down the streets to a suburb where the banker's communication had originated.

Conveniently, the home in question had a tall fence of blue grey wood covered in ivy along the drive, so after a quick check, all three of them were slipping in the back door of the house. Heero had picked the lock.

After a couple of deliberate breaths, Nichol placed the smell as that of mothballs. And the décor also indicated the presence of an elderly resident. Heero pointed toward a framed picture on the wall that showed an older woman, frail even in the picture, and two middle-aged men with identical short beards of red hair.

Nichol enjoyed the freedom of being a lesser but respected partner as the three of them separated and searched the first floor. Nichol noticed the living room floor had been completely covered with Christmas doormats like a second carpet. The smell of mothballs receded in that room to be replaced with the aroma of a large tank with several large angelfish and a plastic castle.

Sally was the first to join him in the living room, and for a moment she was a silhouette against the picture window. A dark shadow with a brilliant yellow glow shining around her curves. Nichol had to blink a few times before he could determine that she was mouthing words to him, and turning, he saw Heero standing behind motioning toward an open door and an upward stair.

Heero spoke close to Nichol's ear when he approached, "She sleeps there," he pointed with a finger, "Unable to go upstairs."

They took care while going up the wooly green carpet stairs that occasionally were home to different small boxes labeled 'Christmas.' The attic was lit by a sky light and the atmosphere sparkled with floating dust. The walls were fake wood panels and the ceiling was slanted down from the point of the roof. The far section of the attic was sectioned off by wire and what appeared to be a couple shower curtains.

Nichol heard rather than saw Heero remove his weapon. Heero moved first, Nichol followed, then saw from his peripheral vision that Sally had braced a smaller weapon between her two hands. The adrenaline was enough for Nichol, but he did feel oddly disconnected from the work of the other two.

Heero broke the silence with a ringing of curtain hooks as he pulled them back, no person sat in the chair behind the divider but it was obvious someone had been using that area regularly. A laptop sat with it's screensaver running on a desk with a chair in front. A filing cabinet on one side had what appeared to be an inbox piled high with papers. A printer and waste basket full of wadded paper were also immediately identifiable.

"Look," Heero spoke, and Nichol saw that beyond the computer, the next wall was covered in clippings. Pictures. Articles. The largest was the cover of the Earth Daily Star newspaper. A full spread picture of a moment after the Christmas Mariemia had descended to earth—when the little girl had first appeared in public at the side of . . . Une.

Nichol saw her, after trying to avoid her image for so many years. Turning the news channel for a moment, letting Hilde fill him in on the important parts of the printed news. He'd deliberately tried to let himself miss running into Une, and now he was staring at a wall that at first glance seemed to contain a chronicle of Une's activities for the past few years.

"Someone's obsessed with Une," Nichol was surprised to hear his own voice speaking.

Nichol caught Heero looking at him with a bitter smile, "Or someone's obsessed with Mariemia."

Nichol looked back and read the oversized text that accompanied the first picture he'd analyzed. It said, "Kushrenada's Heir."

"What's this?" Sally asked, and Nichol became aware of her presence nearing his side. With her next step, all three of them heard the audible click.

. . .

While the hours past, Hilde had decided that even though she could trace her interest in Heero back for quite some time that she was in no way ready to consider marrying him. She's also practiced making another batch of cookies and wondered if Heero was going to call before he came over. If he was coming, or if he were waiting until later when he usually walked Daisy.

Hilde finished the paperwork for two of her largest orders to keep her mind distracted. Finally, she ate lunch and turned on the radio.

"Local authorities arrested thirty-six year old Valentine Domingo at the Second Colony Bank minutes ago. Domingo was taken to an undisclosed location. However, in the moon-side suburbs, firemen are still trying to control a fire started by undetermined means at the Domingo residence.

"Preventer and Gundam Pilot, Heero Yuy was at the scene and single-handedly rescued Valentine Domingo's grandmother, a ninety-seven year old invalid."

Hilde sat down, staring numbly and pulled her legs up underneath her. She found the remote next to her and turned on the television to compliment the radio. Images of the fire were the first she saw.

One of the reporters had Heero under the brilliance of their camera light. Colonist media were famous for their ability to swarm like deceptively harmless bees to the first pollen of flowers. Hilde saw the tension in the frown of his lips, his hair unruly as if singed and his skin more than dusted with soot.

"Do you know what was inside the Domingo household that Valentine would want it to be destroyed, even if it meant killing his grandmother?" The reporter was a blonde woman taller than Heero, but he fixed her with a steeled gaze and said in rough monotone, "No comment."

Hilde wrestled with the urge to run to the scene and stand by him. To stare down the blonde reporter with Hilde's own angry eyes and share a few choice words beyond "no comment."

Behind the cameras, Hilde noticed movement. It looked like the colony medics were helping a younger woman, also dusted in the ashes from the smoke. Hilde leaned forward, since the focus was still on Heero's resolved scowl. She realized that the young woman actually was helping the medic, between them they were helping. Nichol.

Hilde didn't bother to think twice before racing to the yard to get her make-shift motorcycle.

. . .

He couldn't help but lean heavily against her, the pain was all on his left side. Nichol saw Sally move to speak, and he snapped angrily, "Don't even apologize. I probably was tripping over my feet more than protecting you from anything."

Her eyes changed then, and Nichol felt warm even though he hadn't really been trying to charm her.

"You should have waited for the stretcher," Sally said instead, "I can't believe you aren't more hurt."

His first response, after Sally accidentally tripped the wire that started the upstairs explosion, had been to grab her and try to find cover from the explosion. They were lucky it was a smaller bomb mostly intended to destroy the evidence of the espionage work. Fire had started immediately, moving up the wall as if the wood panels had already been primed with kerosene.

Heero had reflexively thrown himself the opposite direction, toward the stairs and cut off from Nichol and Sally by the flames.

Heero hadn't even wasted time for cursing, "Secondary explosion is likely. Go out the window NOW."

Nichol and Sally had both picked themselves up and raced for the windows, Nichol faster and wrapping himself around Sally as he barreled himself at the window. The fence and bushes had caught his momentum and surprisingly, Nichol realized that the significant pain was from his left arm. Sally was unhurt and helped pull Nichol to his feet and away before they did hear the second explosion.

By then, they found Heero in the front of the house, holding the elderly woman in his arms without strain.

"Stay away," Heero instructed, "Although, I'm sure that this guy is into one particular target, not general destruction." They heard the sounds of sirens approaching, "He even gave the department time to rescue grandma here, even if I hadn't."

Nichol had been trying to listen. Listening to Heero had proven to be a reliable choice. But flashes of pain were lighting up his vision and Nichol was fairly certain that no one else was seeing the corresponding symptoms.

"You're arm," Sally said, just as a news van pulled up on the opposite side of the street. Firefighters were already working on the house. Nichol could hear the buzzing of voices and engine but wasn't able to make specific sense out of any one voice, besides Sally's, "You! Hey, help me with this man. He needs medical attention."

Nichol felt the earthquake under his feet and wondered what other disasters were going to strike, but as he swayed he found Sally caught him rather sturdily.

"Bring a stretcher!" She shouted another order, but Nichol couldn't see clearly to know if she was talking to herself or if someone else was actually out there.

"Nah, I can walk," Nichol felt detached from the pain just then and took a tentative step. Sally gasped and moved to balance his next careless step, "See. I'm fine."

"I know you're fine." Sally sounded vexed, "You ox. Just wait."

He heard a weary catch in her voice, and was more frightened by her gentleness than her medical diagnosis, he snapped angrily, "Don't even apologize. I probably was tripping over my feet more than protecting you from anything."

. . .

Hilde found Nichol sitting in the back of the medics van, his feet dangling over the back wheels. Someone had put his arm in a hasty tourniquet, blood still soaked most of his sleeve.

"Idiot!" Hilde whispered running up to him, "What the hell were you doing with Heero on a job!" She made to punch him, but pulled short of actually touching his good arm, "At least make sure they're going to pay you before you do something reckless."

He had been staring at his arm with a morbid fixation, but at her words she saw his face breaking into a lunatic grin, "I'm glad I'm not dead too, Hilde." Nichol did look up at her then, his eyes oddly content and his smile genuine, "I had forgotten. Well, I've missed living . . . so much. I had to get close to death to figure that out."

Hilde fought down the lump in her throat and retorted around the thickness that remained, "Dummy. You weren't even close to dying. You just have a broken up arm."

Nichol breathed a laugh, wincing that time. He sat, slouching, but let his head turn to survey the other people still cleaning up after the explosions. Hilde followed his gaze to see the blonde woman that had been helping move Nichol as she watch the television.

"She looks familiar," Hilde said to herself, feeling a stillness amongst all the business now that she was certain Nichol was more or less alright.

"Sally." Nichol supplied, and Hilde wondered how they'd met since Nichol talked like he knew her.

As if knowing they were talking about her, Sally finished her conversation and took a tentative step toward them. Nichol lifted his chin to call her over, and Hilde was certain then that her brother was bruised more than just his left arm.

"Sally," Nichol continued to use his chin to introduce, "This is my sister, Hilde. Hilde, Sally. She's the one that got Heero and I into this mess."

"Oh really," Hilde figured that if Nichol was being cruel that Sally was a good person.

"Yes, I did." Sally spoke softly, "But all I can promise is that I'm sure that the trouble is going to leave and I won't be bothering Nichol or Heero again."

"Don't go making promises you can't keep," Hilde watched for Heero, feeling his absence like a skip in her heartbeat, "I know these two boys are horribly motivated by women in power."

Nichol opened his mouth, but uttered no protest.

. . .

Nichol decided he was happier before they properly reset his arm for a true healing. He hated the more often truth that one must suffer more pain before becoming whole again. He liked band aids much better. Sally Po had arranged to supervise his medical care, and he found that he not only trusted but respected her.

Because of his injury, Nichol also found himself an honorary attendee to the follow-up debriefings and strategy operations. No one hesitated to share the latest intel on Valentine Domingo's brother, Jorge, who apparently made it off colony with their weapon and agenda uncertain and unspecified. Except that now they had an idea of the target. Mariemia.

It was after the first of these meetings that Hilde had rushed in to Heero's side, then waited in a moment of insecurity before reaching out to take his hand. Nichol watched without bitterness for the first time allowing himself to see the fragile tangle of love that was starting to weave Heero and Hilde together.

Hilde caught Nichol's attention next, still letting Heero keep her hand, "Doctor Sally says it's okay to take you home, so I'm taking you home with me to keep an eye on you."

"I'm not that broken," Nichol grumbled, but acquiesced without further complaint.

What he wasn't expecting was the mail Hilde had been so careful not to spoil.

"BARTON!" He'd growled so loudly that Hilde had automatically replayed Trowa's message insisting that Nichol actually listen. Which he finally allowed himself to do. Reluctantly admitting to himself that he wasn't surprised.

The surprise came once again with Sally Po, who having become familiar with Hilde's house, arrived that same evening with an official military summons from Earth.

Nichol could hardly process the thoughts. Une was coming to the colonies. And she'd asked to see him.

. . . Later . . .

They waited for the shuttle, Sally standing at attention even as the colony dust kicked up by the landing spacecraft swirled at her feet. She could feel Nichol's presence next to her. His breathing came in alternating deep and shallow breaths betraying his discomfort even though he'd refused her insistence that he should sit down. Sally doubted that he knew he was swaying on his feet. Occasionally, she'd feel the sleeve of his uniform brush against her shoulder. Of course, with his arm underneath in the better-constructed sling, she knew he was unaware of their touching.

Oddly enough, and she nearly choked on the thought, it made her feel warm.

It was something unlooked for. Douglas Nichol was a ridiculously arrogant ex-soldier with a short fuse and limited insight. But, she chided herself, that was only a superficial grasp of his character. Watching him with Heero, she'd realized that while he trust was slow won, Nichol's loyalty was unwavering. He had learned a lot from his sister, and she remembered seeing his first genuine and unguarded smiles when Hilde had fussed over his injury.

His dry humor and insecure smile made him attractive to her. His stern chiseled expression and the last signs of his boyhood in the curly hair.

She relaxed and turned to look at him, at a loss for something to say. Nichol turned to look at her with a hint of fear in his eyes and eyebrows that were uncertain where they wanted to rest on his forehead.

Almost, Sally almost felt like they were the only two people waiting on the ground as the crew brought out a staircase for Une to meet the press, the military and the people of the colony. Flashes and clicks started before Sally turned back to see Une. In her uniform and with her hair down around her shoulders, the commander was a juxtaposition of gentlewoman and soldier. A unified comprehension of both the Lady Une and Colonel Une of the Gundam Wars.

Sally could tell that Une was trying to seek them out, scanning the sea of press badges and flash-bulb cameras until her gaze found them. Une's vague smile froze, even at that difference and Sally felt not only Nichol's sleeve but his weight against her in response.

Une walked over, and if the backwash of microphone carrying colonists hadn't been behind her, it would have only been the three.

Une said watching him with interest while speaking, "Sally says that we owe you much gratitude that even while a civilian you're serving wherever you see a need."

"Sally is kind," Nichol's voice was demurred, completely different from the barbed jests he'd thrown back at the customers of The Sunrise under his apartment.

"Protecting Mariemia is a large task. To be prepared on multiple fronts." Une's voice still maintained her authority, but her posture relaxed as in the presence of a familiar ally.

Without mistake, Sally knew that for all the mentioning of her name, Sally did not exist in their thoughts. An with a chill of insight, she grasped Une's subconscious intention, "I guess it's not comfortable for some of us to live on our own."

"Nichol, I've come to make a personal request that you consider returning to Earth. With me."


	6. Chapter 6

The house had an atmosphere of betrayal, loss and death. He remembered sitting near the edge of his bed, when his legs were still short enough that his bare feet still hovered just over the chill of the hard wood floors. In that moment, Douglas Nichol would hesitate. He knew the cold of the floor would slice up his legs like icicles piercing through his soles and up into his knees. Or the frozen fingers of a ghost would wrap around his ankles.

The only alternative was to stay. To stay asleep forever under the blankets of drowsiness.

Each morning he had to remind himself that it was not the same house. His mother was not reading the morning paper at her place at the head of the long table. Mrs. Catalonia was not taking extra time to cover up her nightly tears that everyone would pretend that they did not hear.

Instead, he would have to remind himself that he was waking up on Earth, but in one of the many Kushrenada mansions. Une had acquired his estates as legal guardian to Treize Kushrenada's heir. And Nichol was there as a handpicked bodyguard for that same heir, Mariemia.

That thought also caused him to pause; although, his feet were already hard pressed against the chill boards of the floor. His weight half transferred to his legs and his arms ready to lift against the mattress. In that moment, he felt the irrational fear that he might fail. The pressure of getting up no longer was the despair of living in a fatherless household. Instead, he had to accept the responsibility of Une's trust and Mariemia's life. Shaking his head, Nichol finished standing and stretched.

By the time he dressed, Nichol would have forgotten he'd hesitated at all.

 

"Everything okay?" He asked, the first words he had spoken that day, the same as every day.

"Yeah, nothing unusual at all," Sally Po stayed in the room next to Mariamia's. She rolled her shoulders and added, "She's in a right mood, like always. For all of our high recommendations from her adopted 'mother,' that girl does not much care for either of us."

"Heh," Nichol rubbed at the back of his neck. He'd recently cut his hair, which left him more insecure than he cared to admit. Living as a civilian had softened not only his appearance, and he'd been training regularly when he and Sally traded shifts watching their charge. The more he tried to regain his soldier's edge, the more he realized how far he had yet to go.

"Are you getting enough sleep?" Sally narrowed her eyes, but the set of her lips remained gentle and her eyebrows merely lifted in concern, "You know, nothing is likely to happen without some sort of chatter being picked up by the Preventers. We'll be well prepared for anything before it happens."

"And if we aren't?" Nichol fought back a yawn with a flash of indignation.

"Then we'll improvise!" Sally said lifting one finger and gracing him with a cheerful smile.

"That certainly inspires confidence!" Came a shrill voice from behind the bedroom door.

"She's got sharp ears," Nichol frowned at the closed door that they stood in front of. The newly twelve year old was spoiled in his opinion and too young yet to truly benefit from her bizarre life experiences. Being used as the puppet figurehead in a global revolution had done nothing to diminish Mariemia's ego.

"I don't know how you could hear anyone sneaking up on you when you both talk so loudly!"

"Well, excuse us," Nichol scowled at the door, "Where is it that we have to take this scamp today?"

"Nichol," Sally said, half-scolding and half-bewildered, "You really shouldn't treat her like that if you want her to respect you."

"I don't see the reasonable approach working for you," Nichol crossed his arms as they waited. Sally wouldn't let him consider eating until they'd chaperoned Mariemia to the dining room.

"That's because, well, there's a small issue regarding someone that she's fond of…" Sally started, but right then Mariemia pulled open the door to her room with such ferocity that they could hear the air being displaced. The girl slapped at the light switch intentionally before Nichol could get a good look into the bedroom. She resented having anyone in her room even to check for surveillance devices or other potential weaknesses. That morning, however, the young red-head's appearance was startling enough to have distracted even the most determined bodyguard.

Nichol sputtered, hiding his laugh in a choked cough. And Sally shifted her weight, fighting the temptation to elbow her partner.

Mariemia blinked. She was gaining inches in height every few months; although, she was keeping her hair as short as she had when she was a younger girl. And she blinked again, more carefully as the false eyelashes brushed against her rouged cheeks. She pressed her brilliant pink lips together and then said, "I hope that I'm not too overdressed to survey Relena's, I mean, Ms. Dorian's school. I wouldn't want to make any of the other applicants feel under qualified."

"They've arranged a private tour for you, Miss Kushrenada," Sally spoke so solemnly that Nichol had to chew the inside of his lip in order not to react.

Mariemia had no such reservation. Her decorated upper lip pulled into a curl that wrinkled her petite nose, "Have they? Well, I suppose that will do." Then, with a sudden bashfulness, she turned to Nichol, "Do I look nice?"

Nichol tried to overlook the girl's temper, and smiled at her insecurity, "Did Une help you pick out the color? I think that it's a good choice for you."

The way she smoothed out her skirt and shuffled on her feet, Nichol felt he'd answered well. He missed Dorothy just then. Dorothy's transition into a woman had been more politically aggressive but nonetheless subtle and feminine. He could imagine Hilde partially pulled toward the kitchen and in part to her tools in the garage. What they all had in common was the struggle of becoming an adult in a world of political unrest and uncertainty. They had all lost their fathers.

"Good," She said, her tone abruptly returning to that of a miniature dictator, "Then let's eat so we can be on our way."

Nichol trailed behind. Sally keeping nearly in step, but letting Mariemia lead down the hall. In some moments their surveillance seemed overdone, but Une wasn't taking anything for granted. She was maternally protective of Treize's daughter.

The girl swayed as she walked in ambitious high heels. Nichol felt a sloppy grin cross his face and an instinctive fondness for the ridiculous child. He wanted her to grow up safe. He wanted her to have a father.

And with that thought, the smile slipped from his face.

 

He always ended up being the chauffeur. It was simply safer to have him drive rather than trusting someone else. Nichol also knew the vehicle well enough. It was a similar model to the car he'd used to drive Une around the colonies, and he knew the shape and structure of the mechanics well enough that he could judge if they'd been tampered with by sight. That was one skill that came back more quickly than he'd expected. While his other senses were slightly dulled and his paces caused him to loose his breath faster than he remember, Nichol still could judge a machine. He had been the original test pilot to practically fly out and orchestrate a battle with a unit of Mobile Dolls. At the time, it had been a relief because of his general distaste at the poor piloting of the naïve OZ soldiers. He had felt his most confident coordinating with the speed and grace and the pure reaction time of the Mobile Dolls.

Driving was almost the same. Except that he had two very real passengers. Sally had given up on polite conversation. Nichol hadn't felt much like talking, and, when spoken to, had answered her with polite briefness. Mariemia stared out the window, taken with one of her sullen moods. Even though they'd only been together for a couple weeks, they'd formed a superficial understanding of each other. And Sally resigned herself to keeping an alert, silent watch.

Nichol had almost relaxed to the rumble of the automobile's engine by the time they reached the shuttlecraft that was going to take them to the Sank Kingdom. Relena Dorlian had reconstructed the school for pacifism that she'd started during the Great War. A separate building had been built as an elite school for young women, in part with funding from the Winner family wealth demonstrating the support of the colonies. While the roots of pacifism were still present, the curriculum was more general and the application process less rigid. It had become quite fashionable for the wealthy to send their daughters, but Nichol resisted sharing the multiple jokes that he and his sister had created at the school's expense. Mariemia might be the sort of girl to benefit from such an environment.

The clouds were starting to roll in from the west and Nichol watched in the rear-view mirror as Sally pushed her sunglasses up to rest on top of her head, peering around the airport. Mariemia looked bored, her lips slack and open, a thin chord trailing from her ear the only evidence of the music she was listening to.

After the car pulled up against the curb, Sally got out and spoke to the uniformed attendant making arrangements for a secure boarding onto a private flight. She stepped around the front of the car and tapped her knuckles against the window even as Nichol pressed the button to lower the glass.

"Are we good to go?" Nichol asked, studying her face. He knew he had to rely on reading her emotions if there ever were to be a situation where verbal or exact communication was no longer an option. But her eyes were as bright and cheerful as always, stunningly so in contrast the graying blue of the sky beyond her.

"They asked that we take the car into the building just back there and to your right. I'll meet you inside and they have a separate hall to the private jet." Sally smiled, then added more softly "It's good to be outside. I'm so glad the 'don't leave home' policy was lifted."

Nichol nodded, closing the window and reversed the car to make the turn off. He caught Mariemia's look as he twisted in the driver's seat and gave her a quick smile. She didn't change her expression, but her eyes drooped. He wondered if she were lonely always having to be with adults and constantly under adult supervision. The past few weeks of being bound to the property had been tedious for both himself and Sally. He only then could imagine how awful it must have been for the girl. The grey material of the car seats reflected against her pale skin giving her a sunken aura.

The dark of the airport private garage was broken by humming fluorescent lights. The area was well lit, but Nichol was grateful to see Sally give the 'all clear' by waving them in. He cut the engine and then stepped back to open the door and help Mariemia out. She swayed on her heels and, without making it obvious, he let her hold his hand just long enough to get her balance.

"All of the luggage was taken already on the other private jet," Sally spoke, apprising both Nichol of the smooth process and Mariemia of the security of her belongings, "Follow me."

Nichol slowed his steps to keep back with Mariemia, but felt at a little of a loss what to say. He was used to Hilde coming up with conversation and his silences with Dorothy were more comfortably familiar.

"I was thirteen when my mother started to send me to the Romefeller School for Boys," Nichol said nonchalantly.

"Did you like it?" Mariemia asked with an air of indifference. She didn't look up, but continued to watch her feet as if bewildered by how they managed to continue in their forward movement.

"Truthfully, I was just glad to get away from my mother, but I didn't make many friends," then Nichol started, coughed into his fist and realized what he had been saying, "I did learn a lot. And," he scrambled for words, "I'm sure things are different for girls."

"Not really," Mariemia said, and then the silence didn't feel as uncomfortable, and Nichol didn't draw attention to the fact that she'd started to hold onto the fabric of his shirtsleeve.

 

Once Sally had inspect the plane, Nichol followed Mariemia on-board and the girl had insisted on sitting by herself in one of the front left seats. He and Sally kept to the back as she wished, glad that they could still keep an eye on her.

Nichol had taken the seat where he could best stretch out his legs and leaned back into Sally's shoulder. While Sally could have piloted the jet, Une had given them her own personal pilot and he was enjoying Sally's company.

"I can't tell if she's simply interested in making things right or if she sees me as some sort of, I don't know," Nichol made to run his fingers through his hair and just remembered that it was mostly gone and rubbed the top and the different feel of it.

"Mmm," Sally answered.

"The day she called me in to her office to discuss strategy and update us on the latest information on the Domingo conspiracy, do you remember? She had me in her office and kept talking about birds of all things. I know she has that cage and the green whatever they are, but she asked me what I thought would happen if someone let a pet bird fly free. I mean, what kind of question is that? Do pet birds know how to feed themselves, Sally? Do you know?"

"Mmm," Sally answered.

Nichol shifted, "I don't think so, in which case, the birds would probably come back. Unless they got lost. Well, that's what I said, and she seemed to like that answer. But it's so hard to tell with her. I remember once when we were on Barge and she was joking around about how the Mobile Dolls would someday be downsized to be human servants. But when I brought it up to her later, she simply stared at me as if she'd never imagined something like that before. Sure does dampen a joke. Although, I suppose that was probably due to the whole confused identity issues that she tells me she had. I'm sort of relieved that's what it was. I had noticed, but." Nichol paused, "Hey, Sally, isn't it funny how differently we feel about our memories than how we felt at the time? I remember being so angry. Angry that she couldn't keep a single thought in her head. I knew I couldn't trust her and that made me angry. And now, it's kind of funny. Thinking about how angry I was. I felt powerless then, but I see it differently now."

"Mmm," Sally answered.

He felt her shift and the place where his back had met her shoulder was suddenly cold. He craned his neck to look over at her. Sally had her chin balanced against her opposite fist.

"What do you think about that?" He asked, above the clouds the sun was brilliant and he had to shift to keep in Sally's shadow. It was hard to see her expression in that contrasting darkness, but when she spoke, her tone was familiar and normal.

"I'm really not sure, Nichol," She said and he saw the profile of her lips pull back in a small smile, "I suppose it's something that you'll just have to find out."

"Mmm," Nichol nodded, recognizing how the exact pitch and duration of his murmur had imitated Sally's and he chuckled, "We've been working too closely, Sal. I'm starting to sound like you."

 

They were wearing casual uniforms that day, but without badges to identify themselves as affiliated to the Kushrenadas or the Preventers. Nichol had actually wanted to use another countries ribbon or seal, but Une hadn't been comfortable with misrepresentation either. Mariemia's safety was a first concern, but inappropriately using a political symbol could cause unintentional damage as well. Nichol had tactfully withdrawn his suggestion. Instead, he felt a little like a utility man as he left the jet first and surveyed the airport wearing the light grey slacks and jacket. Nothing appeared amiss and soon Sally and Mariemia were at his side.

They had outpaced the weather, but the clouds were steadily rolling ever closer. It came ominously enough to cause Nichol's intuition to border on anxiety. He knew that it had to be nothing but the atmospheric changes, but Sally caught his look and returned it with a concerned set to her jaw and lips.

Mariemia also was nervous, but he suspected the cause was reasons other than her own safety.

"I need to go to the bathroom," She touched her cheek reflexively, and Nichol nodded Sally toward the nearest facilities.

"That's a good idea," Nichol said, trying to sound reassuring. He remembered how sick he had been the nights before he went back to the Romefeller school. He wondered how it might have been if he'd had someone to tell him everything would be okay. Even if it wasn't okay, to know that someone cared about him.

He watched as Sally entered first then came back out holding the door open for the girl who's step was starting to look as if the shoes were hurting her.

The open foyer area that he was standing in was mostly empty, a few of the employees were standing together around a counter labeled, "Rental Vehicle Information." Directly across from him was a wall of complete glass facing the upcoming storm. He could see their vehicle waiting for them. It was again exactly the same as the one he'd driven that morning. Inspecting it would be quick. He tried to shrug off his reservations.

Then he felt the silent vibration of his communication device. It resembled the smallest transportable video set, but let the receiving party listen or speak only. He pressed the button to accept the incoming message and turned to face the bathroom when he put the earpiece in. He expected Sally.

It was Une.

"Nichol, don't speak. We've got you on visual through satellite of the airport security. I don't know where they are and if they can see you."

His heart stopped, but he relaxed his posture and with effort continued to breath normally.

"We're sending the local Units Four and Six out, but I don't think they'll make it in time. I want you to keep Mariemia with you and send Sally out to the car as if it were a routine check. She should be able to ID the suspect on the street. Chances are he's not alone and he has weapons."

Nichol attempted a smile when he saw Mariemia, but Sally fixed him with a cold look. She knew.

"I'm going to go check the car, now." He put a hand on Mairemia's shoulder.

"No," Une's voice pierced through the system, but Nichol kept smiling, "Sally goes."

"It doesn't look different from what I'm used to driving," Nichol spoke aloud and lifted his hand. He couldn't explain himself. He didn't want Sally to be the one to go.

"Do not disobey me, Nichol. You will not. Stay with my daughter."

Then Sally hand reached down to respond to the nearly silent hum of her equipment. Nichol wanted to curse, but continued to force a bare smile. Mariemia's eyebrows wrinkled the center of her forehead. He didn't want to think they were being watched, but even the very few seconds they were waiting seemed like an obvious stalling.

"I'll go," Sally said, her voice indifferent. Mariemia looked up at her.

Nichol shifted his weight. This wasn't how he worked with Sally. He wasn't used to Une telling them how to do their work, not when it came to the details. His throat resisted swallowing, but his lips formed the words, "Alright then."

"I wouldn't be surprised if our girl doesn't ask you to carry her to the car," Sally said lightly, reaching toward him with one arm but not quite closing the distance between them, "Her feet are bothering her more than her mother imagines."

"Good idea." He felt the old anger again, but this time he realized his frustration wanted to come in tears. His stomach sank as he recognized how civilian his reactions had become as he watched Sally walk away as the grey of her uniform matched the grey of the exterior lighting. Why did anyone need to check the car? Why couldn't they simply pretend that they'd forgotten something on the jet? Or why hadn't Une contacted Sally and told her to simply stay in the restroom? He could think of a dozen potential alternatives.

He felt Mariemia take his hand. Having Sally go to the car was obvious to Mariemia as out of the ordinary. Wouldn't anyone who'd been waiting for them suspect?

Nichol surveyed the exits, the ground level fire escape door was close on the right and the first place he would go if they needed to run. Sally was outside now. Lifting the hood of the car.

"Excuse me, miss. I believe you dropped this?"

In truth, Nichol was bewildered by his reaction. The attendant was on the ground as soon as he had stretched his arm out toward Mariemia. Nothing indicated that person was a threat but Mariemia's shriek and pull on his arm alerted him to the other's approach. And this man was armed. And too close to use it properly. Nichol instinctively grappled and with more strength in his arms heard the satisfying drop of the metal against the tiled floor. Fists were enough to put the other man down, and Nichol cursed his lack of finer fighting.

"We're getting out of here," Nichol swooped Mariemia into his arms, and for all of her gangly new height she'd barely gained weight so that she hardly seemed a burden. One shoe fell and she barely kept the other balanced on her toes. She curled an arm around his neck and he ran for the exit he'd seen. Turning to push it open with his momentum, he narrowly missed the inward blast of the projectile glass, as the street suddenly became an explosion of heat and light.

 

He ran. First through the parking lot, down one length of cars before running across. His only thoughts were speed and distance. Mariemia was crying. Now and again her open mouth sobs would cause her to bite his shoulder, but he barely noticed. It was enough to know she was still alive. Mariemia was alive. And he was running.

The airport was set away from the city and the path they were on ended up at an open field and in the distance a line of trees. Possibly there would be a subdivision between those trees.

When his stride started to burn, he realized he was being given directions. Perhaps he'd been given directions all along.

"Go left on the first street. Unit Four is nearly there and will meet you."

It was a suburb. When his feet hit the asphalt he turned left. And the rain started. Mariemia's hand on his neck began to loose its grip between their sweat and the sudden downpour. Panicked she grabbed onto him tighter and he wanted to choke.

"Not so tight, my girl," He rasped afraid of the headlights he saw, and hopeful of them. But with the relief returned his anger. Not knowing who to be angry at. Why wasn't he informed of the danger until it was right upon them? Where was Sally?

The last question caused him to stumble, and he dropped Mariemia's legs but she was ready to be put down and stood with her arms still around his shoulders as he bent double trying to breathe. If the headlights weren't Unit Four, should he fight? Or should he run? He couldn't leave Mariemia alone. They might not kill her. They might kill him. But he didn't want her to be alone.

Who thought two alone would be enough? They should have kept an entire unit with her. A Gundam pilot. Or two.

"Nichol!"

He looked up and through the rain he saw Une, wearing her dark black Preventers uniform darkening as it got wet and she tried to not look like she was running. Unit Four hustled behind her. Nichol felt a soldier at his side.

"I don't need help," Nichol snapped, trying to stand upright, "What the," He paused and glanced over at Mariemia who had a heavy blanket thrown around her making her seem smaller and one set of false eyelashes were stuck against the pink smear on her cheek, "What," He stammered.

"Thank you. Thank you, Nichol," Une touched his face once, causing the drop of rain and sweat to smear where her hand had been. Then she immediately went to her daughter, turning her to walk toward the vehicles. The Unit was alert but didn't seem in immediate danger.

Nichol felt as if they might leave him behind and took a couple steps staring at Une's back. She did turn then, as if knowing he was lagging.

"Come on," She smiled, the same fond smile she cast on her birds. The smile that seemed so distracted and forgetful.

"But what," his voice was ragged, and he couldn't stop his thoughts from running faster than he could capture them, "But Sally."


	7. Chapter 7

"Oh, I see you found my gun. I designed that, you know. The catch, do you see it there? If you spin it just right," he laughed, "Okay, well, I thought it was funny."

"A gun that dismantles into a game controller?"

"A disguise. Better than explaining why you have a gun."

"Explaining why you have a game controller?"

"I was a body guard for a child many years. It seemed like a good idea at the time."

"Yes, but you were the body guard. Everyone would expect you to have a gun. You wouldn't hide it."

"I must have been bored."

***

Two years on assignment and Douglas Nichol found himself well defined by routine. A routine of mindlessness broken by an occasional joke from his fourteen year old responsibility, occasional communication from those members of his family that still spoke to him, and the occasional night terror that he never mentioned to anyone. Not that the mindlessness meant he'd lost his soldier's edge, in fact, it had improved to a level beyond his days of service for OZ. He had nothing to do besides train.

Mariemia had learned to like his approach to life and every morning at five thirty they walked together to the training room which was nothing more than four white, windowless walls lit by a solitary light in the center of the ceiling over blue padded floors.

"Ready?" he asked her, and Mariemia nodded once. She was just nearing the end of her coltish frame reaching what would probably be her full height, a handful of inches shorter than Nichol and her adopted mother, Une. At one time, Mariemia might have been discouraged by her diminished stature, but a stoic resolve put steel into her hazel eyes and determined jaw. Now and again, the public mistook Mariemia for being Nichol's daughter and he shrugged it off to the mirrored gravelly demeanor the girl picked up from her constant companion and protector.

The steps they went through together were Nichol's variation on the T'ai Chi Ch'üan. Movements of balance and co-awareness and practical self-defense that justified Nichol's attentiveness to his charge. Mariemia, for her part, kept up, her breathing well practiced, but a bead of sweat stayed on the bridge of her lip that pursed in frustrated perseverance near the fifty-sixth minute.

Four minutes later, they were picking up their towels and wiping their faces as Une opened the door and greeted them both with a broad grin, 'Good morning."

"Good morning," Mariemia said, giving the older woman a brief hug and then shooting a look at Nichol. The girl was getting to be a little too perceptive as far as he was concerned.

"Nichol," Une acknowledged him.

"Yeah," Nichol said, having long given up trying to decide if he was on informal or professional terms with his employer and former superior. He pushed his way toward the door making Mariemia quicken her pace directly in front of him.

"She thinks you don't like her," Mariemia hissed.

"Yeah, well sweetheart, I really don't like her," Nichol retorted, having long given up on being professional with Mariemia as well. She might not be his daughter, but he'd long felt like he was her father. Or older brother. Most likely the latter he figured, as Nichol was particularly experienced from having a couple unusual sisters. First, Dorothy Catalonia who had grown up in his house and who enjoyed her endless, possessive teasing of him. Then his by chance, blood half-sister, Hilde Schbeiker, who had grown up in the colonies and through the coincidences brought about by their inherited stubbornness were reunited while spending some quality time together on a prison transport ship.

"You two are as bad as divorced parents. Except," Mariemia threw up her hands, "You never were married! What a waste of effort."

"Now listen, Mimi," Nichol's voice dropped as he used his favorite nickname for her and even though he was certain of what he was going to say, his eyes refused to meet hers, "It's not like that between us. We just don't always agree on what's best for you. I suppose I'm a bit out of line since I'm not family..."

"To me you are," Mariemia reached out for his hand and gave it a silly pat with her own sweaty palm, "Just don't make me chose between you."

"What?" Nichol was shocked, "No, it's not like that."

"Okay, just don't," Mariemia let her longer hair hide her face, "I mean, losing Sally was bad enough."

Nichol swallowed hard, knowing what Mariemia needed to hear and forcing himself to say it, "I agree. And that's why I'm not going anywhere."

***

"How long were you part of that household?"

"Long enough to watch Mimi grow up. To get a slew of boyfriends. To fall in love."

"Er, weren't you already a little old for that? I mean, even back then?"

"Not with me! No, but there must have been something to it because she picked the most sullen and brooding one from the bunch."

"Wufei, right?"

"Yeah, although, she seems to have known since she was small that he was the one for her."

"It must be something to meet a person and just know that. Of course, my parents were that way."

He laughed, "Supposedly, but probably not the way that you imagine."

***

"Just bring Mariemia with you," Hilde could be seen reaching out to the monitor and just barely refraining to throttle it the way she must have intended to shake Nichol, "You're going to have a nephew in the next week and if you don't catch that shuttle you're going to miss everything."

"It's not like he's going to be a short-term commitment. Maybe sometime..." Nichol couldn't identify why he was refusing. He saw León Catalonia-Barton when Dorothy and Trowa made their diplomatic circuit. But they always came to him. Actually flying out, flying away, struck some primal urge to remain stationary. Frozen by fright. Of what was he frightened?

"Hilde," next it was Heero's arms interrupting the screen and making a very red-faced and pregnant Hilde sit back in her chair.

"Heero," Nichol couldn't resist, "I'm somewhat surprised to see you're still around what with the circumstances..."

Heero's face only appeared in one corner of the vid-screen but Nichol could feel the intensity of the stare, "We've had nine months to work this out."

"Yeah, but it isn't every guy who's cool enough to stick with his girl when she's having his best friend's baby." Nichol had to bite his tongue to keep from saying more.

"It was a mistake," Hilde protested with an distressed tone, "We had a bit of a fight and Duo came back from deep cover just then and one thing led to another stupid thing and this is just my luck!"

"Shh," Heero put his hand on Hilde's shoulder, "You know, maybe we don't want your brother..."

"Yes. Yes, we do!" Hilde's demeanor changed immediately as her tears of remorse became ones of fury, "No more excuses, Nichol. Get on that shuttle or, I swear, I'm going to name this kid after you."

***

"I don't know what you're trying to say. My parents made a happy home for us. Even Douglanso."

"..."

"Why are you laughing? What is it?"

"Just visualizing what it must have looked like when Heero and Hilde were fighting over the keyboard in order to fill out the name on that birth certificate. Your mother might have been born a Schbeiker, but she had the determined resolve of a Nichol to follow through on her threats. Or promises."

"Like me?"

He considered, "Perhaps, but those Yuy genes give you a more realistic perspective. Which is why you're here alone, isn't it?"

"Not exactly,"

"What do you mean?"

"She said she wasn't coming because you wouldn't want to see her. Not after so long."

***

"You wanted to see me?" Nichol hated Une's office. He'd hated it for as long as he could remember; however, when he was honest, he knew he only hated it as long as Sally had been gone. Somehow, once Sally had been destroyed in that bomb blast during the decisive attack on Mariemia, he was able to think clearly. All the time he'd spent in that office with Une, she'd been speaking a different language from him. She had changed from the woman he served under on Barge. She thought she loved him.

Which was completely illogical in Nichol's mind when he knew why she had sent Sally and Nichol on a unbriefed suicide mission to draw out the terrorist sect that had obsessed with abducting or killing the last Kushrenada. That she had put their lives in danger, and Mariemia's. That she had ordered Sally to her death while taking pains to make sure that Nichol and Mariemia escaped safely.

He never had the guts to ask Une those lingering questions to her face. And as each year passed, more uncertainty and directionless loathing piled over the unsavory inquiry to the point that he didn't want answers any more. Nichol just wanted to be left alone, to do his job, and protect Mariemia.

Nichol was either very good at hiding his distaste or Une had an exceptional amount of denial, because she greeted him with an affectionate smile, "Yes, thank you." He stood awkwardly in the doorway, nearly swinging his arms, until she motioned toward the seat.

"Uh, thanks. I'll stand," Nichol walked to the chair and used it as a place to hold onto and brace his arms still.

"We haven't talked about the future,"

"Nope," Nichol's fingers slid along the leather of the seat with a wailing screech. Uncomfortable, Nichol lifted one hand and ran his fingers through his hair.

"Obviously, it took some doing with all the politics that Earth can't quite break free from, but Mariemia will be under the protection of the Colony Five Guard once she's married to Wufei," Une voice continued, disembodied as Nichol resorted to staring out the window.

"Oh," Nichol breathed. Just short of nine years with this girl only to lose her to a Chinese war hero; however; Nichol begrudgingly liked Wufei. Although, having Mariemia starting her own life always skirted the uncomfortable subject of Nichol having become redundant, "What does Mariemia want?"

"Maybe you'll want to go back to the colonies, to spend some time with your sister and nephews and their business," Une didn't stop speaking nor did she acknowledge Nichol's brief response, "I know that Trowa had mentioned some symbolic guard positions in the diplomatic circles had opened up. Or Noin is always looking for instructors at the co-ed Sank Kingdom Academy. Did you know that they had opened it up to boys?"

"What? No. I mean, yes," Nichol swung his head around from staring at the long empty bird cage and met Une's eyes for the first time, "What's the meaning of this?"

"Well, obviously, Mariemia doesn't need her childhood bodyguard any longer," Une said, solemnly setting one hand over the other on the desk in front of her.

"That is obvious," Nichol felt his belligerent temper fighting for control of the conversation, "And I suppose that's the only reason why you kept me around?"

"Nichol," Une said, calmly, "Douglas, I figured out long ago how you felt about me. It's okay. I'm not going to keep you captive here."

"Oh right," Nichol scowled, indulging his bad humor, "You get to have the moral high ground. Well, I haven't forgotten what happened. And I'm not your little bird," For a moment, he remembered puzzling that analogy of Une's with Sally and the memory came back so clearly that he had to close his eyes to keep back the reopened pain. He finished with less emotional punch than he had originally intended, and said simply, "Once Mariemia's gone. I'm gone."

"Did you love her?"

The question was so direct, and unexpected, that Nichol's hands slipped from the chair completely and he lost his balance. "What? Who?" He asked before he realized and could swallow the questions.

"Sally."

"I don't remember anymore. I don't want to talk about this. I'll start packing my things,"

"I think the truth is that you don't know where to go, Nichol. You stayed because of Mariemia, but I happen to know that you haven't met two of your nephews because you won't go to the colonies even when you have more than enough leave time due to you. And the only reason why you've seen any of your family has been if they're in this city and come to you," Une's voice didn't waver, she spoke with absolute confidence, "I know you don't want to hear this, and we've all just let you stay the way you wanted. Still, bottom line is that I know you don't like me, and I'm not going to subject you to staying in this place without Mariemia."

"Huh," Nichol managed. He found that nine years had made his internal arguments isolated and moth eaten. What he had learned was that it was safer to disengage, so he chose to practice what he had perfected. He remained silent.

***

"So tell me, why did you decide to become a detective?"

"Private investigator for hire. Because, I like to know the answers to questions."

"And missing persons?"

"Right."

"Did you ever think that sometimes not knowing the answer is best? Sometimes the question is good enough?"

"We all need the truth. Just to hear and see. To get a conclusion."

"Oh, I don't like those."

"We can tell, Unkie. Mom's been telling us that for years."

"And I didn't ask you to start digging up anything in my past."

"No, but see that's the strange thing about family. We all sort of like you for some inexplicable reason. Except the gun. The gun is stupid."

"That's what your mother said when I suggested the model for reproduction, And besides, if you liked me you wouldn't go hunting for my ghosts. I prefer leaving things well enough alone. And I don't really care to see Une again. I've got her on my satellite network news stations making speeches often enough."

"Unkie, I'm not talking about Une."

"No? Then I don't understand,"

"See, it took some doing. Douglanso had to get Uncle Duo pretty intoxicated to get some of his more entertaining espionage stories. You know, that top secret ones that are just to funny not to share?"

"What are you saying?"

"Well, a couple years ago Uncle Duo said something that caught Mom's attention but he wouldn't repeat it even when she threatened to do him in with the nearest bottle of Broadbent Five Year Madeira that she was planning to serve at dinner."

"He was always renown for leaving that house on a sour note."

"Yeah, but Dad kept inviting him back. Anyway... mom told me the whole story about this Sally person when I persisted and, while I was working another lead on a missing Portugal heiress who was a lush let me tell you, I picked up a trail. Unkie, Sally's alive."

"Come again, because it just sounded like you said..."

***

Nichol did take time to repair the uncrossed bridges to his family to the point that Hilde started enforcing a limitation on the time that he could spend with his nephews, "They've got school tomorrow and just look at how they're practically bouncing off the ceiling."

"Now, now," Nichol laughed the best he could under the choke hold of Heero Junior, who asked everyone to call him Hans for some indeterminable reason.

"Now, now yourself home!" Hilde protested over the disappointed cries of her children, "And don't you even think twice about skipping this house on your bus route tomorrow when I can't pry their little bodies out of their beds to get to school on time!"

The applications for public transportation required some resume padding and apparently piloting mobile suits and high speed car chases weren't enough for the new government. After some grumbling about the hoops an ex-soldier with good references had to jump through, Nichol wryly took a position as a school bus driver for the children that lived on Hilde's colony. His military regulations and high standards took the kids by surprise at first, but within time the children on Nichol's bus were demonstrating a noticeable improvement in their classroom behavior. This amused Nichol to no end and he repeatedly read the school's letter of recommendation to Hilde whenever she started to hassle him about playing too hard with his nephews.

Fortunately, in Nichol's estimation, it wasn't long before he got the appropriate and acceptable permits and experience to fly commercial shuttles between colonies. And for all the trouble they gave him before letting him interview, the corporate sponsors of the solidifying transportation system appreciated his dual role of pilot and chief security officer.

"Why did you come back here for your vacation?" Hilde asked while pounding her frustrations out on an unruly lump of dough she determined to recreate into bread, "Why don't you ask that cousin to the Noventas out on a holiday or something? She certainly seems to like you."

"Daphne?" Nichol chuckled and shook his head, "I don't think I'm meant to settle down, Hilde, and I've got to quarrel with that right now. Daphne's a bit too flighty for me. If I don't hold onto her ticket for her, she loses it somewhere between the gate and the shuttle and that just delays the whole flight."

"Did you ever think about going back to work for the Preventers," Hilde said with a strange pointedness that Nichol couldn't decipher, "Or some sort of, I don't know, specialist work?"

"Never," Nichol said with determination.

***

"She survived and the highest levels of the Preventers had this once in a lifetime opportunity to put a believed-dead-but-oh-so-alive agent in deep cover. I can't even imagine what all she's been able to do in so many years."

"You saw her," his voice rasped with disbelief, except he was talking to the one nephew that he irrevocably trusted.

"Face to face. She just doesn't think... don't give me that look. She wasn't free once they gave her the assignment and no one could take the mission but her. And it was an important one, trust me."

"Well, then, she's, ah, made her choice," he couldn't believe what he was saying.

"Yeah, and now you've been given a chance to get to make a choice, too."

"What's this?"

"Her next intel drop. Be there before the Preventer agent."

"I can't be the one that blows her cover!"

"You're more crafty than that. It was you who taught Pascal and Dennis how to sneak out through the warehouse ventilation system during our shift at chores."

"They had a natural inclination for it and just happened to follow me..."

"That's what they tell Mom. Well, I've got an appointment in fifteen and I doubt my cab will wait much longer."

"Hey," he paused, "I think what I want to say is, thank you."

"Right, well, what you do is up to you. Because, really, for you it's just a gamble on a possibility that never went anywhere. For me, it's a long standing bet which is up to four thousand between Uncle Duo and myself. Ever since that night Douglanso got him drunk, Uncle Duo's been trying to put me off the trail. He'll have to pay up now or he's going to put in a word for me with his 'un-namable' employers. Which is just as well since the old man's regular broke from all this reckless gambling, you know. Well, goodbye."

"Goodbye."

Nichol folded the card with the location and time and put it on the table in front of him where he could simply look at it. He had changed since that day at the airport, and not always for the better. But he knew that Sally was worth the cost of a little adventurous outing. He snatched up the card and felt a very old expression crossing his face as he bit back an optimistic grin.


End file.
